o 


EDWARD  QILLIAT-M-A 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 


• 


ie 


& 


VELVETEENS 


A   NORFOLK    STORY. 


BY 

EDWARD    GILLIAT,   M.A., 

ASSISTANT  MASTER  IN  HARROW  SCHOOL 

AUTHOR  OF 

'CHAMPIONS  OF  THE  RIGHT,"  "DOROTHY  DYMOKK,"  "FOREST  OUTLAWS,' 
"JOHN  STANDISH,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    F.    BARNARD. 


PUBLISHED    UNDER   THE   DIRECTION   OF  THE    GENERAL    LITERATURE 
COMMITTEE. 


LONDON: 

SOCIETY   FOR   PROMOTING  CHRISTIAN    KNOWLEDGE, 
NORTHUMBERLAND  AVENUE,  W.C. 

43,   QUEEN   VICTORIA   STREET,   E.G. 

BRIGHTON:  135,  NORTH  STREET. 
NEW  YORK:  E.  &  J.  B.  YOUNG  AND  CO. 


CONTE  NTS. 


I.  THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE 

II.  THE  POACHERS    ... 

III.  TAVERN  BABBLE 

IV.  MINNIE  FLETCHER 

V.  THE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB    ... 

VI.  AUNT  BESSIE 

VII.  JEAN  FORBES  HAS  VISITORS    .. 

VIII.  SOME  CONSEQUENCES 

IX.  THE  VICAR 

X.  A  PENNY  READING 

XI.  WALKING  BY  MOONLIGHT 

XII.  A  SUNDAY  WALK 

XIII.  THE  SEARCH 

XIV.  THE  CLUE    

XV.  THE  HEDGER'S  STORY 

XVI.  GEORGE  PLAYS  A  TRUMP  CARD 

XVII.  THE  DEAD  HAND      

XVIII.  A  FIT  OF  REMORSE 

XIX.  THE  STRANGER 

XX.  THE  BOAT  RETURNS 

XXI.  THE  CEYLON  TEA 


3 

9 
17 
23 

3' 
4i 
47 
53 
63 
70 

79 

87 

95 

101 

1 10 

118 
126 
136 
144 

153 

162 


811 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

XXII.  NOT  QUITE  AT  HOME 

XXIII.  How  GILES  KEPT  HIS  WORD     ... 

XXIV.  A  LATE  REPENTANCE 

XXV.  A  LOVER'S  WALK         

XXVI.  AN  ULTIMATUM     ... 

XXVII.  MR.  BROWN'S  COURIER 

XXVIII.  MINNIE'S  LAST  NIGHT  AT  HOME 

XXIX.  THE  WEDDING-DAY 

XXX.  MINNIE'S  RESOLVE 


PAGE 
171 
182 
IQO 
200 
2C9 
219 
227 

234 
242 


VELVETEENS. 


CHAPTER   I. 
THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE. 

FORBES,  head  gamekeeper  to  the 
Squire  of  Beckthorp,  was  just  sitting 
down  to  his  tea  in  his  cosy  little  lodge  by 
the  side  of  the  home  wood.  It  was  six 
o'clock  on  the  evening  of  the  last  day  in 
August.  The  day  had  been  a  busy  one  for  Mr. 
Forbes  and  his  stalwart  son,  the  latter  of  whom  is 
just  giving  a  finishing  touch  to  his  wet  hair  yonder, 
as  you  can  see  if  you  peep  through  the  half-open 
door ;  while  the  only  daughter,  Jean,  is  serving  up 
hot  a  rasher  of  bacon  and  fried  potatoes,  which 
splutters  and  crackles  merrily  as  she  lifts  it  from 
the  fire. 

"  Steady,  lass,  steady,"  murmurs  Mr.  Forbes,  in  a 
deep  bass,  as  he  scrutinizes  the  appetizing  dish,  and 
fears  to  lose  a  drop  of  the  fat. 

Mr.  Forbes  had  been  fetched  by  the  Squire,  twenty 
years  back,  out  of  Ayrshire,  and  he  had  ever  a  low- 
land Scot's  eye  for  thrift.  He  had  been  a  widower 


4  VELVETEENS. 

seven  years  next  Christmas,  and  Jeannie,  now  twenty 
years  old,  had  kept  house  for  him  like  a  good  lassie 
as  she  was. 

"Now,  Angus,  tea's  ready,"  she  cried  to  her  brother, 
and  set  to  with  a  will  to  pour  out  the  tea,  while  her 
father  picked  out  for  himself  the  choicest  morsels  of 
4  streaky.' " 

Poor  Mr.  Forbes !  you  must  not  deem  him  selfish 
for  thinking  of  himself  first ;  he  had  been  out  all  day 
and  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast  time :  for 
to-morrow  was  the  beginning  of  partridge-shooting, 
and  there  were  gentlemen  staying  at  the  hall,  friends 
of  Master  Aubrey,  the  Squire's  eldest  son,  who  were 
expecting  a  good  day.  The  keeper's  hair  is  touched 
with  grey,  but  his  ruddy  face  and  strong  frame  seem 
to  betoken  many  years  before  him.  Angus,  not 
quite  so  tall  as  his  father,  is  strongly  knit ;  like  his 
sister,  his  hair  is  fair  and  skin  white,  where  the  sun 
and  wind  have  not  browned  it  to  mahogany.  They 
sit  and  talk  not ;  Jean  knows  it  is  useless  speaking 
just  yet,  while  her  father  and  brother  are  so  absorbed 
in  the  business  of  the  evening.  She  finds  it  lonely, 
at  times,  living  in  the  keeper's  lodge,  away  from  the 
village  and  the  pleasant  give-and-take  of  village 
talk  ;  though  she  does  sometimes  lock  up  the  house, 
and  trip  down  the  hill  to  the  village  shop  and  post- 
office.  Just  now,  not  being  so  hungry  as  the  others, 
she  lifts  her  blue  eyes  dreamily  to  the  big  rafter 
of  oak  which  crosses  the  ceiling,  from  which  hangs 
her  father's  double-barrelled  gun,  the  trigger-guard 
of  which  shines  like  silver  in  the  firelight ;  there, 
too,  is  fastened  up  the  old  copper  powder-flask, 
curiously  cased,  which  he  had  brought  with  him 
out  of  Ayrshire  in  the  days  when  breech-loaders 
were  in  their  infancy.  Then  she  gets  up  and  gives 
the  logs  on  the  hearth  a  stir  with  her  shapely  foot, 
making  fireworks  blaze  up  the  wide  chimney,  and 


THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE.  5 

calling  from  the  turpentine  of  the  pine  an  aromatic 
odour  which  pervades  the  little  room. 

"  There ! "  says  Mr.  Forbes,  sitting  back  in  his 
chair,  and  wiping  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his 
hand,  <4 1  think  you  managed  that  rasher  as  well  as 
your  poor  mother  ever  could  ha'  done  it,  Jeannie." 

Jean  smiled  across  the  table,  and  held  out  her 
hand  for  her  father's  cup,  saying,  "  It's  a  hard  life  you 
have,  father,  out  in  the  woods  and  among  the  turnips 
all  weathers :  I'm  sure  you  and  Angus  deserve 
something  nice  when  you  come  home.  But  where's 
Willie  ?  He's  very  late  to-night ;  he  didn't  ought  to 
be  so  late  as  this." 

"  We  left  him  with  Jim,  the  watcher,"  said  Angus, 
stopping  in  his  drink  ;  "  the  youngster  was  helping 
to  chop  some  light  timber." 

"Ha!  that  reminds  me,"  said  Mr.  Forbes,  medi- 
tating with  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  as  he 
looked  sideways  into  the  hissing  fire,  "  I  ha'  dreamed 
thrice  o'  losing  teeth  lately ;  there's  some  bad  news 
brewing,  I  doubt  it.  A  body  never  dreams  o'  teeth 
but  there's  a  death  coming  in  the  family." 

"Oh,  father,  don't  be  so  fearsome,"  said  Jean, 
trying  to  laugh  the  omen  away. 

"I  hope  that  boy  hasn't  gone  and  cut  hisself 
in  two  with  a  hatchet,  Angus ;  did  you  warn  him 
now  ?  There's  only  two  on  you,  and  we  can't  be 
too  careful  of  one  another." 

This  was  Mr.  Forbes's  Scotch  way  of  showing  affec- 
tion ;  he  went  on  in  his  most  lugubrious  voice— 

"  Mind,  childer,  if  aught  happens  any  day  to  me, 
there's  two  hundred  pounds  saved  up  in  yonder  bank  ; 
and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  the  old  Squire  would  clap 
Angus  i'  my  place." 

"  Come,  father,"  said  Angus,  patting  the  game* 
keeper  gently  on  the  shoulder,  "  don't  you  give 
way  to  the  megrims  this  how.  Willie  is  all  right, 


6  VELVETEENS. 

I'll  be  bound  ;  and  you  don't  look  like  dying 
this  thirty  year.  You  must  ha'  eaten  your  bacon  too 
fast  and  got  a  touch  o'  indigestion ;  that's  what  it 
is,  most  like." 

At  this  moment  the  door  was  flung  open,  and 
a  yellow-haired  boy  of  twelve  rushed  in,  crying, 
"What  do  you  think?" 

"Think?  why,  shut  that  door,"  said  his  father, 
gruffly.  Now  that  Willie  had  come  back  all  safe, 
the  gamekeeper  began  to  be  ashamed  of  his  late  fore- 
bodings ;  and,  being  ashamed,  he  was  disposed  to  be 
angry  with  somebody.  Therefore,  Willie,  being  the 
youngest,  was  a  very  convenient  valve  for  explosion. 

"  What  do  you  think?"  began  Willie  again,  with  all 
the  glee  that  small  boys  feel  when  they  find  them- 
selves possessed  of  some  news  which  has  not  yet  been 
vouchsafed  to  their  elders. 

"  Well,  I  think  you'll  ha'  to  go  supperless  to  bed 
—that's  what  I  think." 

The  boy  pouted  ;  he  did  so  want  to  deliver  his 
message,  and  he  could  get  no  fair  hearing  for  it.  At 
last,  in  a  pet,  he  bawled  out,  "  I  thought  you  was  the 
Squire's  gamekeeper,  and  cared  about  yer  game, 
but  I  finds  yer  doesn't,  so  it's  no  matter." 

"What  is  it,  Willie  ? "  said  Angus,  putting  a  hand 
on  each  cheek,  and  lifting  the  boy's  face.  "You 
needn't  be  rude  to  your  father,  you  know  ;  but  what 
is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Oh  nothing,  if  father  doesn't  care  about  hearing," 
said  Willie. 

It  was  very  clear  that  Willie  was  a  spoilt  boy ; 
being  so  much  younger  than  the  others,  he  had  been 
treated  by  the  rest  like  a  pet  lamb  ;  and,  like  a 
pet  lamb,  he  was  apt  to  be  skittish  and  petulant. 
Mr.  Forbes  put  down  his  pipe,  which  he  had  been 
beginning  to  fill,  and,  drawing  the  boy  to  him, 
said — 


THE  KEEPER'S  LODGE.  7 

"  Now,  be  douce,  laddie,  and  tell  us  what  you've 
got  to  tell  us.  Have  you  put  up  any  more  partridges 
down  yonder  ? " 

Willie  began  again  to  feel  himself  growing  im- 
portant ;  he  had  secured  a  splendid  audience ; 
he  could  afford  to  smile  now. 

"What  do  you  think,  father ?  Jim  says  he  thinks 
they  poachers  is  netting  t'other  side  o'  Firlebv 
wood." 

Mr.  Forbes  clapped  both  hands  on  the  table,  and 
half  rose. 

"Did  Jim  bid  you  run  home  and  tell  your 
father  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  he  did  ;  says  he,  '  Be  sure  you  axe  him 
to  get  some  men  to  come  along  wi'  him  ;  for  they's 
be  a  posse  of  'em.'  " 

"  Angus,  lad,  get  thee  a  good  ash  stick ;  I'll  take 
a  rook  rifle  in  case " 

"  Oh,  father,  be  careful,"  cried  Jean,  with  a  quiver- 
ing lip  as  she  buttoned  his  coat  for  him  ;  then  the 
two  men  went  out. 

The  door  was  unsnecked  again,  and  Mr.  Forbes  re- 
appeared— 

"  Good  night,  bairns  ;  if  I  don't  come  home  timely, 
good  night." 

He  had  kissed  them  both,  Jeannie  and  Willie, 
and  had  again  gone  forth  into  the  darkness. 

Jean  did  not  at  once  clear  the  things  away,  but 
sat  looking  into  the  fire  at  the  charred  bough,  the 
spluttering  root,  the  white  bed  of  charcoal ;  but  she 
saw  nothing  in  the  fire  but  her  own  presentiments. 
Strange!  that  talking  of  teeth,  and  death,  and 
money  saved,  and  "  taking  my  place  ; "  and  then  that 
coming  back  to  bid  them  good  night,  and  kissing 
them  both :  it  was  not  his  wont  to  kiss  them  on 
week  days.  On  Sundays  he  would  take  Jean  on 
his  knee  and  tease  her  about  her  young  man,  who 


8  VELVETEENS. 

had  gone  to  London  to  better  himself,  and  end 
up  by  kissing  her  because  she  was  so  like  her  poor 
mother.  But  to  come  back  just  for  that  seemed 
so  strange.  Surely  he  had  had  a  call,  and  knew  it. 
Jean's  mind  was  infected  with  much  of  the  Scotch 
superstition  which  clung  about  her  father,  and 
the  more  she  brooded  over  it,  the  more  she 
conjured  up  terrible  scenes  of  bloodshed,  till  at 
last  Willie  looked  up  from  his  supper,  and 
said  — 

"  Why  don't  you  talk,  Jean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  frightened  to  death  of  those  poachers, 
Willie  !  " 

"  Bosh  !  I'm  not  ;  when  I've  had  my  supper  I  shall 
go  out  and  look  for  them.  I  say,  Jean,  suppose 
Angus  got  hit  on  the  head  and  was  carried  in 
looking  like  dead  !  Should  you  like  that  ?  " 

No  reply  ;  the  boy  went  on  — 

"  Suppose  father  and  Angus  were  both  killed,  and 
only  you  and  I  were  left,  how  would  you  like 


"  Hush  !  was  that  a  noise  outside  ?  " 

They  both  listened  long  and  breathlessly  ;  the 
wind  had  arisen,  and  some  branches  were  scraping 
and  tapping  on  the  window-pane. 

"  I  shan't  go  out  and  see,"  %said  the  boy,  dog- 
gedly ;  "  you  have  made  me  all  of  a  tremble.  I 
think  I  had  better  go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE   POACHERS. 

?HE  keeper  and  his  son  hurried  over 
the  little  strip  of  garden,  and  crossed 
the  streamlet  that  was  bickering  to  the 
sea.  The  dogs  heard  them  as  they  slept 
in  their  kennels,  and  clamoured  for  per- 
mission to  accompany  them.  The  ferrets  scampered 
about  in  their  hutches,  for  they,  too,  smelt  the 
keeper's  pockets. 

"Shall  we  take  the  mastiff,  father?" 
"  Na,  na  ;  let  her  bide  yonder.  She  shall  fright 
the  game.  Well,  I  dunno,  though  ;  she  might  help 
us  to  find  the  rascals.  Yes,  lad,  go  and  let  her  out, 
but  keep  fast  hold  of  her ;  pass  a  thong  through 
her  collar." 

"All  right,  father;  I'll  catch  you  as  you  go  down 
the  lane." 

The  keeper  trudged  on,  bending  forward  a  little 
as  he  walked,  and  inwardly  grudging  that  these 
lazy  loons,  who  did  no  work  all  day,  should  be  spoil- 
ing thus  ruthlessly  his  own  work  of  so  many 
months.  Presently  he  lifted  the  latch  of  a  cottage 
door.  The  light  streamed  out  and  across  the  road, 
dazzling  his  eyes  ;  yet  he  saw  a  picture  of  children 


io  VELVETEENS. 

playing  on  the  floor,  a  woman  sewing,  and  a  man 
smoking  a  long  clay  pipe. 

"  Who's  you  ?  "  said  the  man. 

"  Can't  you  see?  Come  along  wi'  me,  John  Gibbons, 
at  oncet." 

The  picture  was  broken  up:  the  wife  cried, 
"  Bless  us  all ! "  the  man  muttered,  "  Well,  I  am 
blowed ! "  and  the  children  clustered  together  with 
their  fingers  in  their  mouth,  fixing  wide  eyes  on 
the  dog-whistle  that  hung  from  the  button-hole  of 
the  keeper's  velveteen  coat. 

"  John,  go,  knock  out  Bill  Johnson  and  his  brother  ; 
tell  them  to  bring  a  stick  wi'  'em  ;  there's  poachers 
at  it  beyond  Firleby  wood." 

"  Never,  sure-ly !  All  right,  master ;  shall  you 
up  to  Church  Lane  and  then  cut  in  through  the 
bracken  by  the  big  oak  tree  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,  man  alive  ;  hurry  off  now.  We'll  meet 
under  the  oak.  Good  night,  Mrs.  Gibbons  ;  sorry  to 
trouble  you." 

"Ah,  a  pleasant-mannered  man,"  smiled  Mrs. 
Gibbons  to  herself,  as  she  gathered  up  her  work ; 
"  and  I  remember,  when  he  first  came  into  these  parts, 
how  we  all  fought  shy  of  him  with  his  outlandish 
speech ;  but  he's  mislarnt  most  of  that  now.  Ay, 
and  his  wife,  too  ;  she  was  a  thrifty  soul,  and  many's 
the  time  she's  come  into  my  father's  house  and  rated 
on  us  soundly  for  wasting  good  food.  She  were 
as  bad  as  Parson's  wife  for  that  matter.  But  Mr. 
Forbes,  he  be  a  pleasant,  God-fearing  man  as  ever 
put  money  by  in  the  savings  bank." 

Meanwhile,  Mr.  Forbes  had  been  overtaken  by 
his  son  and  the  mastiff,  the  latter  bidding  him  good 
evening  in  the  dark  by  pushing  her  soft  muzzle  into 
the  keeper's  hand. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  hill  they  crossed  the 
churchyard,  passed  through  a  quiet'  street  at  the 


THE  POACHERS.  it 

backs  of  some  houses,  and  turned  up  Church 
Lane  towards  the  sandy  knoll  on  which  stood  the 
big  oak  tree. 

"  What  poachers  can  they  be,  father  ? "  said  Angus, 
when  the  village  lay  behind  them,  and  the  steep 
hill  made  fast  walking  inconvenient  to  the  elder 
man. 

"  None  of  ours,  I'll  lay  a  wager.  There's  the  cobbler 
yonder  —  he's  at  Nether  Beckthorp ;  I  met  him 
going  that  way  a  couple  of  hours  ago.  Then  there's 
those  fishing  lads — they  don't  net ;  they  goes  boldly 
out  with  a  gun,  as  if  the  shooting  was  their  own. 
No — don't  'e  walk  so  fast,  lad, — I  shrewdly  suspect 
it  be  some  chaps  from  Yarmouth  or  Norwich,  come 
down  to  get  birds  for  the  early  market  yonder. 
But  they'll  be  mista'en,  I  reckon." 

Soon  they  had  climbed  lip  to  the  knoll,  and  were 
waiting  under  the  oak  tree  for  their  watchers  and 
beaters. 

"  Ah ! "  said  Mr.  Forbes,  getting  his  breath  slowly, 
and  speaking  very  low,  "it  was  in  this  hollow  tree 
that  I  found  old  Bob  Smith's  gun  :  that  did  for  him  ; 
because  the  Squire — well !  he  never  turned  a  body 
off,  no  matter  what  feckless  thing  he'd  a  done ; 
but  young  Master  Aubrey,  he  got  wind  on  it,  and 
never  rested  till  he  got  shut  of  him,  right  out  o' 
home  and  parish.  That's  why  we've  no  poachers 
about  our  ways,  'cepting  them  fishing  chaps ;  and 
I'll  defy  anybody  to  stop  them — they're  that  gallons." 

"  They  are  very  free  and  independent,  to  be  sure  ; 
but  I  have  heard  say  that  they  are  sprung  from  a 
race  that  owned  all  this  country  before  ever  the 
Squire  and  his  like  came  to  England." 

"  Humph !  book-larning,  Angus,  book-larning,  I 
reckon  ;  don't  think  much  on  it.  However,  they 
do  behave  as  if  they  was  the  lords  of  the  boat, 
and  Squire  was  a  bit  o'  figure-head  as  they  could 


12  VELVETEENS. 

» 

knock  off  when  they  liked.  What's  that  ?  be  they 
coming  ? " 

"Yes,  the  bitch  wags  her  tail,  and  trembles." 

"Did  you  go  through  the  allotments,  lad,  this 
morning  ? " 

"  Yes,  father,  and  I  took  Venus  with  me  ;  we 
found  no  game  hidden,  but  several  of  the  tenants 
said  they  had  been  eaten  up  with  hares." 

"  I  dare  say !  and  how  many  has  they  eaten  ? " 

At  this  moment  the  watchers  came  up,  and  the 
keeper  divided  the  party  into  two  detachments,  he 
and  his  son  and  the  mastiff  going  straight  through 
Firleby  wood,  wrhile  four  men  went  round  the  wood 
on  the  high  ground. 

"  You  see,  lads,  if  they  run,  they'll  make  for  the 
Station  Road.  Be  quiet  and  don't  ye  talk  now." 

Thus  they  parted.  The  keeper  and  his  son  climbed 
the  steep  hill  towards  the  wood  ;  they  were  deep  in 
bracken  and  moved  slowly;  further  up  the  hill  the 
bracken  gave  way  to  heather,  and  on  the  top  was  a 
fir  wood  lowering  dark  against  the  drifting  clouds. 
They  could  scarce  see  the  gap  in  the  hedge  which 
led  to  the  wood,  but  when  once  under  the  shadow 
of  the  trees  all  was  mirk,  and  many  a  stumble 
they  made  against  the  big  roots. 

At  last  they  reached  a  more  open  space,  where  a 
raised  footpath  had  been  made  and  a  trench  cut 
on  either  side ;  here  they  walked  in  Indian  file, 
Angus  leading  with  the  mastiff. 

Every  now  and  then  they  paused  to  listen  for  any 
sound  that  might  betoken  the  whereabouts  of  the 
poachers,  but  the  only  sound  they  heard  was  the 
rustling  in  the  tree-tops. 

On  reaching  the  highest  ground  in  the  wood, 
where  the  bracken  was  long,  a  hare  came  running 
up  to  them,  not  seeming  to  see  them  though  they 
stood  right  in  her  way. 


THE   POACHERS.  13 

"  Hist,  lad !  she's  been  disturbed  ;  they  must  be 
down  t'other  side  of  the  wood  ;  you  go  straight  on, 
I'll  cut  across  this  'ere  way." 

The  keeper  turned  off  to  the  right  ;  when  he 
reached  the  bottom,  he  would  find  a  sandy  lane 
between  the  two  woods. 

Angus  went  on  with  the  mastiff  till  he  came  to 
the  brow  of  the  hill.  Straight  in  front  of  him, 
about  two  miles  off,  lay  the  sea  ;  he  could  just 
discern  the  lights  of  two  or  three  vessels  that  were 
passing  along  the  coast.  Here  he  stopped  to 
listen  ;  he  could  plainly  hear  his  father's  steps  as 
he  brushed  through  the  fern  or  trod  upon  a  stick. 
There  was  no  sound  from  the  opposite  hill,  yet 
the  mastiff  threw  up  her  nose  and  growled. 

"Well,  you  know  best,  old  girl,  so  I'll  follow  your 
lead.  Hi!  good  bitch." 

The  mastiff,  thus  encouraged,  put  her  muzzle  to 
the  ground,  and  strained  at  the  leash,  making  more 
for  the  direction  taken  by  the  gamekeeper.  They 
had  scarce  gone  forty  paces  when  a  shout  arose 
from  the  opposite  hill ;  then  came  the  sounds  of  a 
scuffle  ;  sticks  were  being  used.  Angus  rushed  down 
the  hill,  pulling  at  the  mastiff,  for  the  bitch  wanted 
to  go  to  her  master.  Then  suddenly  came  a  gun- 
shot on  his  right ;  it  might  have  been  the  keeper 
peppering  a  poacher :  but  no  ;  he  remembered  that 
his  father  had  taken  a  rook-rifle,  and  the  report 
which  he  had  just  heard  was  more  like  that  of  some 
old  blunderbuss. 

Angus  stopped  and  shouted,  "  Father,  are  you  all 
right  ? " 

There  was  no  reply,  but  the  mastiff  trembled  and 
strained  eagerly. 

"Dash  the  dog!  I  must  go  where  you  like,  I 
suppose." 

Angus  struck  off  to  his  right,  hearing  the  shouts 


I4  VELVETEENS, 

grow  fainter  over  the  hill ;  suddenly  the  hound 
began  to  quest  about  in  the  bracken,  turning  here 
and  there  once  or  twice,  then  suddenly  came  to  a 
stop  and  nosed  about  uneasily. 

It  was  too  dark  to  see,  so  Angus  put  his  foot 
out ;  something  soft  lay  there,  as  he  could  feel ;  he 
then  stooped  down  and  put  out  his  hand. 

"  By  all  that's— it's  a  man !  Come,  mate,  speak  ; 
are  you  hurt  ? " 

He  tried  to  lift  the  body ;  what  was  his  horror 
to  feel  that  his  hand  was  on  his  father's  velveteen 
coat! 

"  Father,  father !  Speak  to  me !  Where  are  you 
hit?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  Good  God,  have  pity  on  me ! "  groaned  the 
poor  fellow,  almost  beside  himself  with  grief  and 
anxiety. 

Then,  recollecting  himself,  he  pulled  out  a  box  of 
matches,  and  lighting  one  held  it  to  his  father's  face. 

The  ashy  colour  and  half-closed  eyes  sickened 
him  with  fear.  The  match  spluttered  and  went  out. 
He  lit  another,  and  looked  about  for  the  wound  ; 
there  was  blood  trickling  from  the  back  of  the  head, 
just  above  the  neck,  and  not  far  from  the  ear. 
What  was  to  be  done  ?  the  second  match  had  gone 
out,  there  was  only  one  left.  This  time  he  piled  a 
few  dry  sticks  and  leaves  together,  and  lit  them 
with  his  last  match ;  they  began  to  burn  with  a 
crackling  noise,  but  there  was  more  smoke  than 
fire,  and  he  could  see  no  better. 

"  If  I  leave  him  here,  while  I  go  for  the  doctor, 
he  may  bleed  to  death,"  thought  Angus  ;  "  yet  I  can 
do  no  good  by  staying:  he  is  hit  in  the  head. 
Poor  father !  what  can  I  do  ? " 

The  unfortunate  young  man  seemed  dazed  ;  he 
was  now  but  twenty-four  years  old.  It  flashed  across 


THE  POACHERS.  1 5 

his  mind  on  a  sudden  how  kind  his  father  had  been 
to  him,  and  how  often  he  had  caused  his  father 
pain.  What !  was  it  all  over  now  ?  Should  he  never 
have  another  chance  of  proving  that  he  was  grateful, 
that  he  loved  his  father  ? 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  groaned. 
Presently  he  knelt  by  the  stricken  man  and  prayed 
aloud — 

"  O  Lord,  have  mercy  on  us  both ;  if  it  be  Thy 
will,  save  my  father.  O  dear  Lord,  if  it  by  Thy  will, 
save  me  from  this  bitter  sorrow.  O  dear !  O  dear ! 
what  shall  I  do  ?  God  help  me !  God  help  me ! " 

There  was  a  rustle  in  the  grass ;  it  was  only  a 
little  rabbit  sitting  up  on  its  hind  legs  and  wonder- 
ing what  was  going  on.  But  it  served  to  recall 
Angus  to  a  sense  of  his  position.  He  looked  round 
for  the  mastiff:  she  had  gone;  he  was  deserted, 
then,  and  alone.  He  pulled  up  some  fern,  and  piled 
it  up  for  a  cushion  for  his  father's  head  ;  he  bound 
the  wound  as  well  as  he  could  with  a  handkerchief, 
and  took  his  father's  gold  repeating  watch  (which 
had  been  a  present  from  a  former  master),  and 
stumbled,  half  dazed  with  anguish,  down  the  hill. 

When  the  wood  got  a  little  clearer  he  shouted ; 
there  was  a  distant  echo  which  seemed  to  mock  his 
efforts. 

"Help!  the  keeper's  shot!" 

The  faint  echo  brought  back  the  cry,  "Help — 
the  shot ! "  with  what  seemed  a  parody  of  his  de- 
spairing tones.  Then  with  a  sigh  he  jumped  into 
the  lane,  and  started  off  at  a  run  for  Nether  Beck- 
thorp. 

There  lived  the  doctor ;  there  lived  the  village 
policeman :  these  were  the  only  two  he  could  think 
of  who  might  serve  him  in  this  extremity.  His  legs 
seemed  to  faint  under  him,  he  staggered  and  had 
to  rest  against  a  gate.  Prayers  and  anguished  cries 


1 6  VELVETEENS. 

of  "Oh,  my  poor  father!  Oh,  my  sister !"  broke 
from  him  at  intervals.  At  length  he  said  aloud 
to  himself,  "  This  is  madness.  I  have  got  Jean  to 
think  about.  God  helping  me  I'll  go  on  with  this 
and  do  my  best.  Poor  Jeannie  !  it  will  be  worse  for 
her— far." 


CHAPTER     III. 

TAVERN    BABBLE. 

>HE  parlour  of  the  "Three  Jolly-boats 
Tavern"  was  reeking  with  tobacco 
smoke ;  a  sort  of  informal  village 
council  was  sitting  —  sitting  round  a 
large  table,  engaged  this  evening,  as 
heretofore,  in  discussing  sundry  glasses  of  grog. 

Sometimes  a  word  was  thrown  in  which  set 
the  folk  a-thinking,  and  after  divers  whiffs  at  the 
churchwarden  some  argument  was  advanced  for  or 
against  the  idea  ;  immediately  their  tongues  were 
loosed,  and  they  spoke  all  together.  A  fine  lot  of 
men  were  these  fisher-folk  of  Nether  Beckthorp  ; 
there  seemed  to  be  a  strong  family  likeness  amongst 
them,  and,  indeed,  it  was  said  that  all  the  fisher-folk 
in  the  village  were  cousins,  more  or  less  removed. 
It  is  a  fact  that  they  were  nearly  all  Fletchers  ;  and, 
to  avoid  confusion,  it  was  usual  for  each  family  to 
choose  a  nickname,  such  as  Billy  Key  Fletcher,  Tom 
Spade  Fletcher,  Dick  Nozzle  Fletcher,  by  which 
simple  means  every  one  (occasionally)  got  his  own 
letters  from  the  post-office. 

There  were,  however,  two  distinct  types  of  face  ; 

C 


iS  VELVETEENS.  . 

the  one  dark-eyed  with  Roman  nose  and  black 
shaggy  hair,  the  other  fair  and  freckled,  with 
bright  red  hair  and  blue  eyes.  They  had  none 
of  the  cowed  and  deferential  air  so  often  seen  in 
the  country,  but  stood  up  and  looked  a  stranger 
straight  in  the  face,  and  answered  or  not  as  the 
whim  took  them.  Yet,  as  a  rule,  you  would  get  a  civil 
and  courteous  reply ;  they  had  none  of  the  rude- 
ness and  ill-breeding  of  your  mill-hands  of  Lanca- 
shire. If  they  were  independent,  it  was  because 
the  ocean  free  had  made  them  so ;  and  because 
they  were  strong  they  could  afford  to  deal  with 
you  as  an  equal  deals:  they  did  not  give  them- 
selves airs  to  frighten  you,  and  make  you  think 
them  stronger  than  they  were. 

"  Well,  I  say  Squire  has  done  well  by  us  all  along," 
said  a  black-haired  giant,  clapping  his  fist  so  hard 
on  the  table  that  all  the  half-empty  glasses  jumped 
up  and  rattled,  as  if  they  were  saying,  "  Hear, 
hear!" 

Then  came  a  pause  and  sundry  puffs. 

"He  has  so,"  said  another;  "them  allotments 
yonder — what  should  we  be  without  them,  I'd 
like  to  know  ? " 

"No  pig,  no  greens,  no  taters,"  said  a  third 
slowly,  tapping  the  table  softly  as  each  item  was 
ticked  off. 

"  Howsomever,"  said  a  thin,  red-haired  young 
man,  "  Squire  gets  more  out  on  us  than  he  would  if 
he  farmed  it  hisself." 

"He  do— that's  right— that's  right,"  were  the 
sententious  comments  of  nearly  every  member  of 
the  council. 

"We  did  well  enough  till  that  young  twopenny 
came  home  to  rule  the  roast." 

"What's  he  done  ?  d'ye  mean  Squire's  son  ? " 

"  Of  course ;  hasn't  he  started  game-preserving, 


TAVERN   BABBLE.  l§ 

like  them  south-country  chaps  ?  Why,  afore  he  came 
trapessing  about  they  turnips,  we  wasn't  eat  up  by 
hares  and  pheasants." 

"  That's  right,"  was  the  repeated  comment ;  and 
grave  heads  were  shaken  over  the  Squire's  fall  from 
the  path  of  righteousness. 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  make  it  a  subject  of  prayer 
at  our  meetings  i'  chapel,"  said  an  elder  of  the 
Primitive  Methodists,  pursing  up  his  lips  as  one 
who  has  been  painfully  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
a  desperate  remedy. 

"The  chapel's  a  freehold,"  added  another  en- 
couragingly. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  meaning  in  these  last 
words  and  the  council  took  seven  minutes  by  the 
post-office  clock  to  gather  it  all  in  and  spread  it, 
as  it  were,  to  dry  on  the  beach  of  thought.  At  last 
an  old  hand  replied — 

"  We  should  be  freer  men,  if  we  had  no  allot- 
ments." 

That  required  some  soaking,  and  one  or  two 
spoons  began  looking  for  sugar  at  the  bottom  of 
the  tumbler. 

"You  must  forgive  me  trying  back,  mates;  but 
I  think  it  be  the  over-preserving  of  game  that  does 
the  mischief." 

All  heads  were  turned  to  look  at  this  speaker, 
who  was  none  other  than  Harry  Bent,  the  radical 
cobbler  of  Beckthorp.  He  was  a  thin,  puny  body, 
with  a  large  head  and  ears  that  flapped  to  and  fro, 
as  though  Nature  had  at  first  intended  them  for  a 
young  elephant,  but  finding  them  a  misfit,  had 
bestowed  them  on  Harry. 

"You  will  find  that  most  of  our  troubles  now 
will  arise  from  this  source ;  the  abundance  of  game 
not  only  devours  our  garden  stuff,  but  attracts  a 
lot  of  rascals  from  the  big  towns.  We  were  once 


20  VELVETEENS. 

living  here  as  in  a  garden  of  Paradise— innocent 
and  neighbourly :  now  we  shall  be  visited  by  ruffians  ; 
our  own  young  men  will  be  tempted  to  snare  a  hare  ; 
then  comes  Master  Policeman  and  claps  young 
Fletcher  in  gaol.  Nether  Beckthorp  will  wax  angry 
when  her  boys  are  sent  to  gaol  for  spoiling  Master 
Aubrey's  little  toy." 

"Ah,  that's  right!   that's  right,  cobbler.'1 

The  cobbler  cleared  his  throat  as  he  glanced  round 
for  his  applause,  which  he  mentally  collected  and 
put  in  his  breast  pocket ;  for  he  was  not  without 
his  weakness — he  loved  to  hear  his  own  praise. 

"Not  that  I  mean  to  say  a  word  against  Mr. 
Forbes ;  we  all  know  him  to  be  cute,  but  we  like 
him  none  the  worse  for  knowing  which  way  his 
head  is  put  on." 

"  That's  right."  The  words  were  accompanied  by 
a  clink  of  glasses. 

"  Mr.  Forbes  has  a  duty  to  perform  to  his  master, 
and  he  performs  that  duty  faithfully ;  at  the  same 
time,  no  one  can  say  that  he  does  not  think  of  us 
and  sympathize  with  our  wrongs  ;  and  if  he  were 
to  walk  into  this  room  this  very  minute,  we  should 
one  and  all  extend  to  Mr.  Forbes  the  right  hand 
of  friendship." 

Only  two  members  had  had  time  to  murmur, 
"  That's  right ! "  when  the  door  was  slammed  open, 
and  an  old  man  came  in  head  first,  holding  up 
his  hand  for  silence. 

"Mates,"  said  he  solemnly,  "there's  been  a  bad 
accident." 

"  Whose  boat  is't,  old  Ned  ? "  they  all  seemed  to 
ask  together. 

"  Tisn't  nobody's  boat,  my  lads ;  'twas  on  the 
land,  not  on  the  water." 

"Fallen  off  the  cliff?"  queried  the  ready-minded 
cobbler. 


TAVERN   BABBLE.  21 

"  No — shot  by  them  poachers." 

"Who,  lad?" 

"  Him  as  I  heard  you  name  when  I  lifted  sneck 
—Mr.  Forbes!" 

'Mr.  Forbes!'1 

"Well,  I  never!" 

" Poor  man!" 

"Say,  old  Ned  ;  is  he  dead  ?  " 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen  ;  you  see,  I  was  talking 
to  our  policeman  on  the  cliff  edge,  when  who  should 
come  running  up  but  young  Forbes ;  '  Sergeant/ 
says  he,  in  a  voice  all  of  a  tremble-like,  '  my  father 
lias  been  shot  by  poachers  in  Firleby  wood  ;  get 
some  men  to  carry  him  home  while  I  go  wait  for 
the  doctor.' 

"' Where  does  he  lie,  master?* 

" '  Near  the  big  chestnut  tree,  not  far  from  the 
road  ;  but  I'll  be  after  you  before  you  get  there.' 

"  And  with  that  he  made  off  to  the  doctor's — and 
I  came  straight  away  and  told  you,  mates." 

There  was  a  long  silence ;  the  news  had  shocked 
them  more  than  they  liked  to  let  it  appear. 

Then,  one  by  one,  they  got  up  and  silently  went 
out ;  one  by  one,  they  each  went  home  to  tell  the 
news  ;  and,  shortly  after,  they  might  have  been  seen 
creeping  up  the  sandy  lane  to  Firleby  wood-side. 

Angus  had  called  first  at  the  doctor's  house,  and 
had  been  told  that  the  doctor  would  be  ready  in 
ten  minutes  ;  he  had  only  just  returned  from  a  long 
round.  He  had  inquired  where  the  wound  was,  and 
had  seemed  to  think  there  was  no  great  hurry. 

Angus  was  now  going  back  to  call  for  him  ;  but 
on  his  way  he  looked  in  at  a  small  house  that  stood 
in  its  own  little  garden.  He  hardly  tapped  before 
lifting  the  latch  ;  in  the  front  parlour  a  bright  fire 
was  blazing,  before  which  sat  a  young  girl  with 
coal-black  hair  and  fine  dark  eyes ;  a  tall  man  was 


22  VELVETEENS. 

standing  by  the  chimney,  reading  a  hymn  aloud, 
or  rather  crooning  it  over  softly  to  himself. 

"John  Fletcher,  may  I  have  a  word  with  you 
outside  ? " 

The  girl  had  turned  round  on  hearing  the  voice, 
and  perceiving  by  the  deadly  pallor  on  the  face 
of  Angus  that  something  was  wrong,  had  jumped 
up  and  followed  her  brother  to  the  door. 

"It's  bad  news  I  bring,  John,  and  I  would  not 
fright  Minnie." 

"Minnie,  my  lass,  dost  hear  what  Angus 
Forbes  says  ? " 

"  Let  him  tell  it  in  my  presence ;  he  has  asked 
me  before  now  to  bear  half  his  sorrows — if  it  be 
a  sorrow, — and  I  am  always  ready  to  do  that,  if  I 
won't  go  any  further.11 

"  Thank  you,  Minnie ;  but  indeed  it  is  a  sorrow, 
and  the  heaviest  a  man  can  bear.  It's  my  poor 
father — who  lies  up  yonder  in  Firleby  wood,  shot 
by  a  dog  of  a  poacher." 

Minnie  pressed  the  young  keeper's  arm.  That 
was  all  he  had  come  for :  that  bit  of  feeling  gave 
him  fresh  pluck  to  do  his  duty. 

"Good  night,  friends.  I  thought  I  must  call 
and  tell  you.  I  am  going  for  the  doctor  now." 

"  Stop !  I'll  go  with  thee,"  said  John,  putting  on 
his  cap. 

The  girl  went  and  sat  down  by  the  fire.  The  tears 
were  flowing  down  her  cheeks :  she  was  following 
Angus  in  fancy.  Let  her  be. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MINNIE  FLETCHER. 


FLETCHER  sat  a  long  while 

gazing  into  the  fire.  The  simmering 
and  purring  of  the  kettle  produced 
upon  her  gradually  a  feeling  of  calm 
and  peace  ;  it  seemed  to  be  whispering 
to  her  in  a  soft  and  confidential  undertone,  "  Don't 
you  be  cast  down,  Minnie  ;  you  have  your  pretty  face 
and  saucy  tongue,  two  lovers  avowed,  and  half  the 
parish  ready  to  bid  for  you  at  a  chance  ;  don't  take  on 
like  that.  Who  knows  ?  haply  young  Angus  Forbes 
will  get  his  father's  place,  and  how  will  you  like 
living  up  at  the  lodge  yonder  ?  "  But  when  that 
thought  crossed  Minnie's  mind,  she  shuddered.  It 
was  a  brutal,  selfish  idea,  and  one  to  be  scuffed  out 
of  the  place  of  thought. 

Angus  loved  her,  no  doubt  ;  he  was  a  fine,  shapely 
young  man.  He  had  a  sweet  smile,  a  pleasant  clean 
face,  a  musical  voice,  with  just  a  touch  of  Scotch 
intonation  in  it  that  always  seemed  to  Minnie 
like  a  revelation  when  she  listened  to  it.  Here  was 
a  music  that  always  surprised  her  ;  when  every- 
body else  dropped  his  voice  to  a  murmur  or  a 
whine,  here  was  this  northern  peasant  actually 


24  VELVETEENS. 

chanting  a  syllable  here  and  there  in  some  quaint, 
forgotten  key.  She  could  sit  and  listen  to  the 
music  of  it  without  heeding  the  sense. 

But  then,  there  were  other  things  to  be  thought  on. 

The  Forbes  family  were  strangers  ;  they  had  no 
part  nor  lot  in  Beckthorp  ;  and  it  displeased  all  her 
family  that  she  should  marry  a  foreigner.  Well, 
as  to  the  family,  she  had  lost  her  father  at  sea, 
years  ago ;  and  her  mother  died  when  her  little 
brother  was  born.  But  there  was  John,  her  elder 
brother,  and  Aunt  Bessie  (if  she  was  to  be  counted, 
being  not  quite  right  in  her  mind,  on  one  sad 
point),  and  the  rest  of  the  parish  of  Nether  Beck- 
thorp,  who  were  her  cousins,  one  and  all. 

A  girl  cannot  lightly  fly  in  the  face  of  public 
opinion.  True,  there  \vas  nothing  to  be  said  against 
Angus ;  he  was  sober,  hard-working,  conscientious, 
and,  as  she  thought,  religious.  Not,  perhaps,  carry- 
ing his  religion  on  his  lips  as  so  many  of  her 
people  were  wont  to  do ;  but,  then,  you '  can't 
expect  landsmen  to  have  so  vivid  a  feeling  of  the 
presence  of  God  as  the  sailor  who  commits  his 
life  twice  a  day,  perhaps,  to  the  perils  of  the  deep 
and  the  merciful  protection  of  the  Almighty. 

Then  there  was  her  other  lover,  Giles  Fletcher. 
Such  a  nice  young  man  he  was!  When  you  saw 
him  on  Sundays,  and  he  was  wearing  his  dark  blue 
serge  guernsey  and  his  sealskin  cap,  he  looked 
quite  bewitching.  To  Minnie's  eye  there  seemed 
to  be  so  much  more  colour  in  his  face  than  in 
Angus  Forbes's.  Angus's  very  light  hair  and  very 
light  blue  eyes  were  well  enough,  no  doubt:  but 
when  Giles  looked  at  you  with  those  soft  brown 
eyes  you  felt  there  was  something  to  look  at ;  they 
made  a  warm  feeling  about  Minnie's  heart.  Then, 
Giles  had  beautiful  patches  of  rose-red  colour  in  his 
dimpled  cheeks,  whereas  Angus  was  more  of  the 


MINNIE  FLETCHER.  25 

brick-dust  tint,  and  he  was  also  freckled.  Yet — 
Minnie  sighed  as  she  said  it  to  herself — Giles  was 
not  over  steady ;  he  was  so  impetuous  and  head- 
strong, so  proud  and  wilful,  that  even  the  Squire  had 
no  control  over  him. 

'Often  and  often,  when  a  little  boy,  he  had  cut 
chapel  service,  to  get  birds'  eggs  ;  lately  he  had 
gone  out  in  his  boat  on  the  Sabbath,  to  the  horror 
of  all  pious  folk,  who  looked  for  nothing  better  than 
to  find  his  drowned  corpse  at  low  water.  But 
Providence  apparently  was  reserving  him  for  some 
other  fate. 

Poor  Minnie !  it  was  evident  that  her  heart  said 
"  Marry  Giles,"  while  her  common  sense  whispered, 
"  Thou  fool,  marry  Angus."  The  question  she  was 
debating  just  now  before  the  fire  was,  "  Ought  a  good 
girl  to  wed  the  man  she  fancies  best,  or  the  man 
she  thinks  will  make  her  the  best  husband  ? " 

The  stories  she  had  read  in  fiction  had  taught 
her  to  prefer  love  as  an  unerring  instinct,  a  God- 
given  passion  of  perfection  ;  but  the  stories  she  had 
seen  enacted  in  real  life  had  taught  her  something 
very  different.  When  she  considered  the  short,  one- 
volume  histories  of  her  kinsfolks  and  acquaintances, 
mostly  tragedies,  though  many  were  yet  "to  be 
continued,"  and  the  issue  was  not  yet  known 
as  being  likely  to  have  a  happy  ending  or  no, 
—when  she  ran  over  these  living  examples  of 
life,  she  could  not  help  confessing  to  herself  that 
love  was  often  blind  ;  that  those  who  married  out  of 
a  girlish  and  boyish  fancy  for  each  other  soon 
began  to  weary  of  one  another's  company,  if  they 
did  not  actually  quarrel ;  that  it  seemed  better  to 
choose  a  man  for  some  quality  which  would  last, 
which  would  perhaps  improve  instead  of  vanishing 
away — for  a  quality  which  might  help  to  make  the 
woman  a  better  wife  as  well  as  more  comfortable, 


26  VELVETEENS. 

Heigho !  she  sighed  again,  when  she  got  thus  far, 
and  her  little  saucy  face,  with  nose  tip-tilted  for 
very  scorn  at  her  baser  self,  was  just  being  thrown 
back  as  she  folded  her  bare  arms  behind  her  head, 
when  the  door  quietly  opened  and  a  young  fisher- 
man peeped  in. 

"May  I  come  in,  Minnie  Fletcher?" 

"Oh,  Giles!  how  you  have  startled  me,  to  be 
sure!" 

"  Sorry  for  that,  lassie  ;  there  was  a  time  when 
Giles  had  a  welcome  in  this  house."  The  boy  had 
thrown  all  his  utmost  reproach  into  the  tones  of 
this  speech. 

"And  so  you  have  now,  Cousin  Giles;  come 
in,  and  sit  you  down." 

Giles  took  off  his  cap,  and  seated  himself  on  a 
chair  by  the  side  of  the  girl  whom  he  was  courting. 

"  Well,  you  look  very  sad  and  glum,  cousin,"  said 
Minnie,  with  a  provoking  smile;  "perhaps  it's  the 
bad  news  you've  heard." 

"Perhaps  it  is,  Minnie;  I  saw  young  Forbes 
come  along  here  this  evening.  I  expect  he  felt 
bound  to  tell  you  first." 

"  So  you  were  jealous,  silly  boy  ?  Well,  perhaps 
you've  cause  to  be  jealous ;  for  you  know  well 
enough  he'd  be  fine  and  glad  to  get  me  for  his 
wife." 

"Yes,  and  folk  do  say  that  you  are  turning  your 
back  on  your  own  kith  and  kin  to  run  after  a 
foreigner." 

"Oh,  folk  say  I  run  after  him,  do  they?" 
Minnie's  dark  eyes  had  a  dangerous  fire  in  them 
just  now.  She  went  on  bitterly :  "  Folk  always 
think  they  know  other  people's  business  best, 
but  you  can  go  and  tell  the  poor,  silly  folk  that 
if  one's  own  kith  and  kin  are  not  dependable, 
one  had  better  trust  to  strangers." 


MINNIE  FLETCHER.  2? 

"What  dost  mean  by  dependable?"  said  Giles, 
colouring  slightly. 

"  Why,  look  here,  Giles ;  the  long  and  the  short 
is  that  if  I  could  trust  you,  I'd  rather  a  deal  have 
you  for  my  husband." 

"  Well  ? "  said  Giles,  kicking  a  coal  in  the  grate 
nervously. 

"  I  cannot  trust  you,  Giles  Fletcher  ;  as  like  as  not, 
after  we  had  been  married  two  years  or  less,  you 
would  be  off  to  America,  or  somewhere,  and  I 
should  be  left  crying.'1 

"Nonsense,  Minnie;  you  know  well  enough  that 
my  love  is  no  ordinary  love.  I  don't  want  to  seem 
to  praise  myself,  but  I  have  always  felt  that  I  was  a 
bit  above  the  general  run  of  Beck  thorp  chaps.  I 
foci  something  in  me  that  tells  me  I  can  rise  in  the 
world — and  I  will." 

Minnie  laughed  a  little  scornful  laugh. 

"My  poor  lad,  before  you  talk  of  beating  your 
neighbours,  you  must  try  and  conquer  yourself; 
you're  not  your  own  master ! " 

"  Not  my  own  master !  then  who  is,  I'd  like  to 
know  ? " 

"  Your  evil  passions,  Giles.  Oh,  believe  me ;  if 
you  don't  first  learn  to  govern  them,  they'll  make 
a  slave  of  you." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you're  a-talking  about,"  he 
said  sulkily. 

"Oh  yes,  you  do;  but  I'll  put  it  this  way.  A 
year  ago  you  and  I  had  a  serious  talk  together 
—do  you  mind  it  ?  We  was  sitting  on  the  heather 
yonder,  one  Sunday  afternoon — that  day  you  kissed 
me,  and  I  slapped  your  face — you  must  remember  ? " 

"  Aye,  lass ;  you  fetched  me  a  good  un.  I'm 
not  going  to  forget  it." 

"  Well ;  then  I  rounded  on  you  for  going  to  the 
public-house,  and  for  rowing  about  with  all  the 


28  VELVETEENS. 

good-for-nothings,  and  for  poaching  over  the  Squire's 
land.  Now,  mind  me,  Giles  Fletcher,  you  caught 
hold  of  my  hand  and  swore  you  would  give  up  all 
those  things  for  the  great  love  you  bare  me.  Dost 
mind  that,  lad  ? " 

"  Yes,  and  I  meant  it,  and  I  have  tried — you  don't 
know." 

"  Well,  if  you've  tried,  I  am  very  sorry  for  your 
ill  success.  I  believed,  at  first,  that  you  would  give 
up  your  old  pals  because  of  your  love  for  me — 
no  ordinary  love,  I  believed  it  to  be.  But  I  was 
sadly  taken  in,  Giles :  you  have  been  seen  on 
Saturday  night  the  worse  for  liquor ;  you  think 
nothing  of  swearing,  and  breaking  the  Sabbath,  and 
stealing  the  Squire's  game  ;  and  yet  you  come  and 
ask  me  to  trust  you  with  my  life,  my  honour,  my 
happiness ! " 

"You  should  not  believe  all  the  lying  tales  you 
hear  about  me,  Minnie  Fletcher.  I  deny  that  any 
one  has  seen  me  drunk.  I  don't  swear,  as  a  rule  ; 
and,  if  I  did,  it  means  nothing — it's  only  a  word 
more  or  less  just  to  give  weight.  As  to  breaking 
the  Sabbath,  I'm  not  a  Jew ;  if  the  good  folk  in 
the  Bible  might  break  it,  I  don't  see  why  I  may  not- 
going  out  in  a  boat  is  very  like  going  for  a  walk/' 

"  Oh,  you  know  it  shocks  the  religious  feelings  of 
all  your  friends." 

"  Then  I'm  sorry  for  their  common  sense.  Then 
there's  the  poaching,  as  it  is  called — why,  bless  your 
heart !  I  do  that  on  principle.  No,  don't  laugh  ; 
I'm  serious.  Landlords  have  no  right  to  breed  a  lot 
of  wild  animals  that  come  and  eat  up  other  folks' 
corn.  Why,  if  I  was  to  keep  young  tigers  and  they 
was  to  get  amongst  the  Squire's  sheep,  what  a  fuss 
there  would  be!  Chaps  would  come  down  from 
London  and  get  it  all  put  in  the  daily  papers. 
But  my  tigers  would  only  be  doing  the  very  same 


MINNIE   FLETCHER.  ^9 

thing  as  the  landlord's  pheasants  and  hares  do. 
That's  why  I  go  and  shoot  the  creatures,  as  a  pro- 
test against  a  wicked  wrong  to  the  poor  man." 

Minnie  turned  a  roguish  look  upon  him,  and 
asked,  "You  don't  eat  the  hares  when  you  have 
caught  them,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  Not  often  ;  I  generally  give  them  away.  I  don't 
see  any  harm  in  that :  the  creatures  are  wild  ;  every 
Englishman  has  a  right  to— 

"  There ;  that'll  do,  Cousin  Giles.  You  are  a 
clever  boy,  but  I  doubt  your  fine  ideas  will 
bring  you  some  day  into  trouble.  Anyhow,  I 
can't  help  distrusting  them  and  you — so  long  as 
you  go  on  like  that.  Drop  my  hand,  sir !  I  have 
given  you  a  year  of  trial,  and  you  go  on  in  your 
old  ways, — drop  my  hand,  please." 

"Oh,  Minnie  darling,  has  it  come  to  this?  I  do 
indeed  love  you  more  than  anything  else  in  this 
world.  I  did  not  know  you  cared  so  much  for  these 
— these  faults  of  mine.  But  now  I  see  you  do,  I 
swear  most  solemnly  I  will  turn  over  a  new  leaf,  if 
you  will  give  me  one  more  chance.  Come,  dearest !  " 

What  could  the  poor  girl  do  ?  She  loved  her 
cousin  ;  perhaps  she  might  rescue  him  from  a  sinful 
life.  It  was  this  thought  more  than  anything  else 
which  made  her  offer  no  resistance  when  he  put  his 
arm  about  her  waist  and  promised — oh,  so  faithfully 
—that  he  would  give  up  his  old  evil  associates  and 
amend  his  ways. 

And  the  kiss  that  he  left  upon  her  half-averted 
cheek  was,  as  it  were,  an  earnest  of  his  good  in- 
tentions. 

And  poor  Angus !  Would  it  not  have  added  a 
terrible  weight  to  his  already  over-burdened  heart, 
as  he  helped  to  carry  his  dead  father  home  that 
night,  if  he  could  have  seen  the  girl  he  loved  so 
well  half  pledging  herself  to  his  rival  ?  But  it  is 


30  VELVETEENS. 

well  for  us  that  we  cannot  see  through  brick 
walls ;  it  is  well  for  us  that  we  cannot  always 
read  the  thoughts  of  our  neighbours.  Enough  for 
us  is  the  burden  of  the  day,  as  God  has  ordered  it. 
The  sorrow  of  Angus  and  of  Jean  was  enough  for 
one  evening.  Let  the  door  of  the  lodge  close 
on  them  in  their  anguish ;  we  have  no  business 
prying  about  into  those  mysteries  of  human 
suffering. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB. 

=£^tf  T  was  not  until  eight  o'clock  that  evening 
that  the  sad  news  of  the  head  keeper's 
death  reached  the  Hall.  The  Squire,  a 
hale  old  man,  with  weather-beaten  face, 
was  discussing  with  his  son  the  arrange- 
ments for  the  morrow's  shooting.  The  room  in  which 
they  sat  was  very  small,  but  comfortable  lounges 
made  it  a  snug  smoking-room  ;  from  the  walls  were 
suspended  antlers  and  models  of  salmon  life-size, 
one  or  two  Indian  knives,  a  sheaf  of  poisoned 
arrows  from  the  Pacific,  and  two  very  bright  double- 
barrelled  guns,  of  a  make  long  gone  out  of  use. 
Master  Aubrey,  the  son  and  heir,  was  rather  short ; 
but  his  collars  were  high  enough  to  make  him  hold 
himself  at  his  best — they  acted  like  a  bearing-rein 
upon  him.  Some  people  in  the  village  said  that 
Master  Aubrey  always  appeared  to  be  standing 
on  tip-toe,  as  if  he  was  trying  to  look  over  the 
garden  wall.  No  doubt  he  was  annoyed  at  being 
so  short ;  but  the  good  folk  would  not  have  thought 
any  ill  of  him  for  that.  Only,  unfortunately,  his 
answers  were  every  bit  as  short  as  his  legs,  and 


$i  VELVETEENS. 

this  set  up  the  backs  of  tenants  and  labourers 
alike. 

Master  Aubrey  had  reddish  hair,  and  not  too 
much  of  it.  His  age  was  twenty-seven.  He  had  a 
good  eye  for  billiards  and  shooting;  he  attended 
race  meetings,  and  only  betted  on  very  safe  events. 
People  wondered  how  it  was  that  the  Squire's  son 
should  be  so  haughty  and  irritable,  when  his  father 
was  so  "uncommon  nice."  I  suppose  he  had  had 
his  own  way  too  much — no  one  liked  to  oppose 
or  contradict  him ;  and  now  very  few  had  the 
courage. 

Well,  father  and  son,  both  dressed  for  dinner, 
were  having  a  few  minutes  of  private  chat  about 
the  partridges  and  the  gentlemen  who  had  come 
down  to  shoot  the  partridges  ;  they  were  arranging 
who  should  have  the  best  ground,  and  where  they 
would  have  lunch  taken. 

"  Never  mind,  Aubrey  ;  it's  not  worth  while  to 
get  hot  about  so  small  a  point  as  that.  As  I  said 
before,  I  am  expecting  Forbes  every  minute.  I 
told  him  to  look  in  before  dinner." 

"  Forbes  is  much  too  independent,  father ;  you 
don't  keep  him  in  his  place.  Now,  I'll  bet  you  a 
crown  he  won't  be  here  till  we  have  finished  dinner. 
Oh,  here  comes  Brooks." 

Brooks,  the  butler,  entered  with  a  solemn  face. 

"Well,  Brooks,"  said  the  Squire's  son,  "what  is 
it?  Forbes  got  the  toothache?  Can't  come  out 
to-night,  I  suppose  ? " 

"  No,  sir ;  he  can't  come  out  indeed ! "  said  the 
butler,  with  a  sigh. 

"  There !  I  told  you  so,  father.  This  is  past  bear- 
ing. Can't  come  out,  can't  he  ?  Just  present  my  com- 
pliments to  Mr.  Forbes,  and  say  we  really  cannot 
do  without  him." 

Brooks  seemed  to  take  no  notice  of  this  remark, 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB.        33 

but  advanced  into  the  room  and  muttered  something 
into  the  Squire's  ear. 

"  Dead  ?  Who's  dead  ? "  asked  the  Squire,  putting 
his  hand  to  his  ear. 

"The  head  keeper,  sir,  was  found  dead  in  one 
of  the  woods  to-night." 

Neither  of  the  gentlemen  spoke  ;  the  news  was 
so  strange  and  unexpected  that  it  robbed  them  of 
speech. 

"Was  it  a  fit,  Brooks?"  said  the  old  Squire,  a 
tear  glistening  in  his  eye. 

"  No,  sir ;  he  was  shot  in  the  back  of  the  head  by 
a  poacher." 

"  Who  brought  the  news  ?    Is  his  son  here  ? " 

"In  the  pantry,  sir,  at  this  minute.  The  poor 
young  man's  very  down  about  it,  very  much 
so." 

"  Poor  fellow !  poor  fellow  !  I  should  like  to  see 
him,  Brooks,  for  a  few  minutes.  Ask  him  to  come 
this  way." 

When  the  butler  had  gone,  the  Squire  turned  to 
his  son,  saying — 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  see  the  poor  lad 
alone,  Aubrey.  We  ought  to  spare  his  feelings  as 
much  as  we  can,  you  know." 

"  All  right ;  but  of  course  we  can't  put  off  to- 
morrow's sport  ? " 

"  I  suppose  not ;  don't  say  anything  to  our  guests 
about  this ;  we  cannot  well  disappoint  them, 
Aubrey." 

When  Angus  came  into  the  smoking-room,  he 
found  the  Squire  alone,  leaning  his  head  upon  his 
hand  as  he  stood  by  the  fireplace. 

The  old  gentleman  stepped  forward,  and  took 
Angus  by  the  hand. 

"  My  lad,  you  have  met  a  great  sorrow  early  in 
life  ;  bear  it  manfully.  Your  father  and  I  have  been 

D 


34  VELVETEENS. 

old  friends  together  these  twenty  years.  You  must 
let  me  be  your  father  now." 

These  kind  words  were  too  much  for  Angus ;  he 
was  quite  overcome  for  a  minute  or  two ;  then, 
with  an  effort,  he  said — • 

"  You  have  always  been  the  kindest  of  masters  to 
us.  I  will  tell  my  sister  what  you  have  been  so  good, 
sir,  as  to  say  ;  and  I'm  sure  it  is  a  real  comfort, 
when  one  is  in  trouble,  to  find  such  true  sympathy." 

"  Now,  tell  me,  Angus ;  have  you  any  idea  who 
it  was  ?  How  many  were  there  poaching,  and 
where  was  it  ? " 

"  It  was  in  Firleby  wood  bottom,  near  the  lower 
road.  Father  and  I  were  at  tea  when  my  young 
brother  came  in  to  say  there  were  poachers  about. 
We  set  off  at  once,  taking  some  men  with  us ;  we 
had  not  been  in  the  wood  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
when  I  heard  a  shot  fired  ;  I  had  the  mastiff  bitch 
with  me,  and  she  found  my  poor  father  lying  in  the 
bracken,  stone-dead." 

"Ha!  the  mastiff!  could  not  some  of  you  have 
followed  on  the  scent  ? " 

"Well,  sir,  I  had  lost  touch  with  the  others,  and 
while  I  was  looking  after  father  the  bitch  made  off." 

"She  would  not  go  away  for  nothing.  I  have 
known  a  dog  of  her  breed  track  a  man  down.  She 
must  be  followed  at  once ;  and  telegrams  must  be 
sent  to  villages  and  stations  round,  that  the  police 
may  be  on  the  look-out.  I  think,  if  I  write  out  the 
forms,  you  might  take  them.  There's  nothing  like 
having  something  to  do  for  curing  the  heart-ache." 

When  the  Squire  had  written  out  his  telegrams, 
Angus  said — 

"  I  ought  to  mention,  sir,  that,  when  I  returned  to 
the  wood  with  the  doctor  and  the  policeman,  we 
found  in  the  bracken  a  shortened  ram-rod.  -  I've 
got  it  up  at  the  lodge." 


?HE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB.        35 

"Ah!  that's  very  important — that  may  give  us 
a  clue.  I  hope  there  is  no  suspicion  falling  on 
any  of  our  own  people." 

"  No,  sir ;  we  found  our  own  people  all  at  home. 
The  Vicar  has  been  round  with  the  policeman.  It's 
more  likely  to  be  some  riff-raff  from  the  big  towns  ; 
they'll  fire  at  anybody  as  soon  as  at  a  rabbit.  I 
don't  think  anybody  here  would  want  to  hurt  my 
father." 

"No,  I  am  sure  of  that,  Angus.  Well,  good 
evening  to  you ;  and — oh,  I  say — we  can  do  very 
well  without  you  to-morrow.  You  must  not  think 
of  doing  any  work  to-morrow." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  but  I'm  very  sorry  to  put  you 
out  so." 

Thus  Angus  went  away,  gladdened  a  little  by 
that  kindly  sympathy. 

Let  us  now  look  into  the  village  club,  and  see 
how  they  took  the  news  of  the  keeper's  murder. 

The  club  had  been  started  by  the  Squire  some 
ten  years  ago ;  he  had  always  refused  to  have  a 
public-house  in  his  village,  but  when  Mr.  Fraser 
came  to  be  vicar  he  made  so  strong  a  point  of 
having  a  club-room,  where  the  labourer  could  get 
a  snug  seat  by  the  fire  and  a  cup  of  coffee,  that  at 
last  they  knocked  two  cottages  into  one,  and  started 
the  village  club-room. 

After  a  time  they  made  the  experiment  of  keep- 
ing beer  on  tap,  having  a  bye-law  that  no  one  was 
to  be  served  with  more  than  two  glasses  of  beer 
in  one  evening.  At  the  present  time  that  amount 
had  been  raised  to  three  glasses. 

No  ill  effects  had  followed ;  though  the  Miss 
Browns,  who  were  worthy  spinsters  and  teetotallers, 
had  prophesied  that  the  admission  of  a  beer-barrel 
would  be  the  ruin  of  the  whole  country.  The 
Vicar  was  one  of  those  ruddy-faced,  hearty  men 


36  VELVETEENS. 

who  do  not  seek  to  restrict  a  parishioner  so  long 
as  the  man  can  drink  within  limits ;  though,  when 
he  was  a  curate  in  a  large  town,  he  had  taken  the 
pledge  to  encourage  those  drunkards  who  could 
not  be  kept  sober  except  by  total  abstention. 

At  one  end  of  the  room  was  the  table  where  tea, 
coffee,  and  eatables  could  be  had ;  little  tables 
scattered  about  served  as  centres  for  groups  of 
talkers ;  there  were  seats  for  old  folk  by  the  fire, 
papers  and  magazines  at  the  end  table.  There  was 
a  ladies'  room,  where  no  smoking  was  allowed  ;  a 
good  kitchen  and  scullery,  and  a  small  room  for 
bagatelle  and  other  games.  To-night  the  room  was 
very  full ;  the  sad  news  had  fetched  everybody  out 
to  hear  and  discuss  the  latest  intelligence.  They 
came  in  very  quietly,  and  seemed  awe-struck  at  the 
blow  which  had  fallen  upon  the  village. 

About  nine  o'clock  there  entered,  somewhat  to 
the  surprise  of  the  members,  a  young  gentleman  of 
pleasant  look  and  manners,  apparently  not  more  than 
eighteen  years  old.  He  called  for  a  cup  of  coffee, 
observing  that  the  Squire  had  invited  him  to  look 
in  at  the  club  ;  then,  as  he  was  casting  his  eye 
around,  noticing  how  dumb  the  members  had  become 
at  his  presence,  he  lifted  his  cap,  and  said  in  a 
clear  voice — 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  ought  to  apologize 
for  intruding  where  I  have  no  right  to  come ;  but 
I  was  telling  your  good  Squire  to-night  how  much 
I  am  interested  in  these  clubs,  and  he  said  at  once, 
i  Go  down  and  have  a  cup  of  coffee  with  them,  and 
see  for  yourself,' — and  so,  here  I  am." 

This  short  speech  was  received  with  a  hum  of 
applause  and  clinking  of  spoons,  and  many  a  one 
said  to  his  neighbour,  "  Him's  the  right  sort,"  "  Bless 
his  bonny  face  !  how  nice  he  do  speak,  to  be  sure." 

The  visitor  sat  down  ;  and,  of  course,  Harry  Bent, 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB.        37 

the  radical  cobbler,  soon  got  near  him.  There's 
nobody  likes  talking  to  his  superiors  more  than 
your  radical  and  your  revolutionist. 

"  Good  evening,  sir ;  you  come  at  a  melancholy 
time." 

"Yes,  we  have  been  talking  about  it  up  at  the 
Hall ;  the  Squire  tried  to  keep  it  from  us,  but  the 
very  doors  and  tables  were  creaking  with  the  news. 
He  was  liked,  I  think  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  when  they  brought  his  body  past  here, 
all  the  club  turned  out  and  followed  as  far  as  the 
keeper's  lodge." 

"  Are  there  any  poachers  in  the  village  ? " 

This  was  an  unfortunate  question  ;  for,  although 
Harry  Bent  was  no  poacher,  yet  he  had  been  known 
not  unfrequently  to  sally  forth  when  good  folk  were 
in  their  beds,  carrying  with  him  certain  snares  and 
a  nice  half-bred  dog ;  they  say  that  he  also  kept  a 
gun  hidden  behind  a  manure-heap,  and  that  his 
pockets  bulged  in  the  early  hours  when  he  trudged 
home.  He  coloured  just  a  little  as  he  replied — 

"  We  be  all  honest  folks  hereabouts,  master ; 
though  we  prefer  the  old  sport  to  the  new.  When 
the  master  walked  his  birds  up  among  the  turnips, 
there  was  less  nibbling  of  poor  men's  peas  and 
spinage.  I  don't  hold  with  this  new-fangled  battew, 
or  what  you  call  it." 

"  No,  nor  I ;  but  at  present  I'm  only  a  boy  at 
school,  and  have  had  little  experience  of  country 
life." 

"Indeed,  sir?  Pray,  are  you  intended  for  a 
country  squire  ? " 

"  I  believe  so ;  unless  I  go  into  the  army.  But 
it  seems  to  me  that  there  is  so  much  to  be  done 
now  in  improving  village  life,  that  it  is  our  duty 
to  tackle  that  knotty  problem." 

"Sir,  I  am  delighted  to  find  a  young  gentleman 


38  VELVETEENS. 

who  has  such  fine  sentiments ;  hope  you'll  live  up 
to  them,  sir, — no  offence  intended,  you  know ;  but 
pleasure  comes  in  and  ousts  duty,  doesn't  it  ?  I 
dare  say,  now,  you  have  been  reading  the  letters 
in  the  papers  about  village  life  ? " 

"Yes,  and  Professor  Fawcett's  book  on  the  posi- 
tion of  the  labourer." 

"  Well  done,  sir  ;  that's  better  than  learning  Latin 
and  Greek,  ain't  it?  Now  I'll  give  you  a  lesson 
from  real  life.  Hi !  Adam,  old  Adam,  come  and  tell 
us  about  what  you  think  of  life  in  these  'ere  parts." 

Old  Adam  grinned,  and  scratched  his  head  ;  it 
was  rather  a  large  order  for  him.  The  stranger  shook 
hands  with  him,  saying — 

"Do  you  find  field-work  worth  having  in  these 
times  ? " 

"Well,  sir,  I'm  good  for  nowt  else,  'cep'  the 
work'us." 

"  Dear  me !  Haven't  you  saved  anything  yet  in 
all  these  years  ? " 

"  Saved  anything  ?    Harry,  what  do  'e  mean  ? " 

"  Put  by  owt,  Adam,  -'gainst  a  rainy  day." 

Adam  sat  back  and  laughed  till  he  coughed, 
the  ideat)f  saving  money  was  too  ludicrous  ;  they 
really  must  not  be  so  funny ! 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir !  Saved  owt  ?  Well,  that's  a 
good  un.  I've  had  ten  children :  seven  girls  went 
out  to  service,  one  son  got  hisself  sawed  in  two  in 
a  saw-mill,  t'other  two  went  to  London  or  some- 
wheres,  and  got  work  on  the  railway.  There  hasn't 
been  no  sulky  ones  in  my  family  a  heating  their 
heads  off ;  but  yet  I  hasn't  put  by  a  penny.  Well, 
yer  see,  when  I  was  young  we  got  perhaps  twelve 
shilling  a  week,  with  stoppages  for  rainy  days ; 
we  had  no  'lotments  i'  those  days." 

"  I  suppose  you  find  them  a  great  help  ? " 

"  The  young  men  do,  sir :  but  they  rob  a  man  of 


THE  HALL  AND  THE  CLUB.        39 

a  good  deal  of  his  rest ;  it's  everlasting  slave  and 
worry.  When  you've  been  at  work  ever  since  five 
i5  the  morning,  you  don't  feel  werry  fit  for  the 
'lotment.  Nor  you  can't  be  i'  two  places  i'  the  same 
time ;  but  just  when  your  master  wants  you  most, 
you  wants  to  be  at  your  own  piece  of  ground  ;  and 
werry  often  the  'lotment  is  too  far  from  yer  house, 
and  the  walking  takes  it  out  of  'e  worse  nor  the 
work  does." 

"  I  see/'  said  the  boy,  looking  disappointed. 

"This  parish,  sir,"  said  the  cobbler,  "is  quite  a 
model  one  ;  yet  we  can't  keep  the  young  uns  :  they 
all  leave  us  as  fast  as  they  can.  Why  do  they? 
— because  they  can  get  better  pay  near  the  big 
towns.  What  is  there  to  keep  'em  here  ?  No  pretty 
girls — all  out  at  service, — no  theatres  or  concerts, 
no  cottages  if  they  do  want  to  marry.  I  don't  blame 
them.  Of  course,  they  go  where  they  can  live  in 
comfort,  where  the  water's  fit  to  drink,  and  the  thatch 
is  kept  good  on  the  roof,  and  where  they  can  save 
up  a  bit  to  end  their  days  on.  We  country  folks 
doesn't  like  the  idea  of  a  work'us  ending." 

Mr.  Bent  would  have  gone  on  for  another  hour, 
had  not  the  arrival  of  the  Squire  and  one  of  his 
guests  brought  him  to  a  full-stop. 

The  Squire  went  to  the  far  end  of  the  hall,  and 
made  a  little  speech  about  the  murder  of  the  game- 
keeper, and  ended  by  asking  everybody  to  help 
him  to  bring  the  culprit  to  justice.  He  concluded 
thus— 

"I  see  you  have  been  entertaining  my  young 
friend,  Lord  Haverden,  who  is  deeply  interested  in 
all  that  concerns  our  village  life ;  and  I  hope  we 
shall  prevail  upon  him  to  spend  a  few  weeks  with 
us.  I  am  glad  to  see  that  Adam  is  sitting  close  to 
his  lordship  to  defend  him  against  the  revolutionary 
doctrines  of  Mr.  Bent." 


40  VELVETEENS. 

There  was  much  craning  of  necks  and  whispering 
when  Lord  Haverden's  name  was  announced  ;  and 
when  the  visitors  had  left  the  club,  old  Adam  said — 

"  Now,  who'd  a  thought  it  was  a  real  live  lord  I  was 
a  speaking  to  i'  that  how  ? " 

"Ay,  boy,"  rejoined  the  radical,  "but  I  slapped 
him  on  the  leg — and  I'm  glad  on't ;  'twill  be  some- 
thing to  talk  about  to  the  day  of  my  death." 


CHAPTER  VI, 

AUNT  BESSIE. 

EVER  had  Beckthorp  churchyard  been 
so  full  as  that  afternoon  when  Mr. 
Forbes  was  put  in  his  grave.  Of  course 
all  the  Squire's  people  were  there  ;  but 
many  young  farmers  had  driven  in  to  pay 
this  last  token  of  respect,  and  there  was  a  large  con- 
tingent of  fishermen  and  their  wives,  who  made  the 
hymn  which  was  sung  at  the  funeral  very  impres- 
sive ;  for  the  fisher-folk  were  more  musical  than 
the  agricultural  labourers.  And  as  yet  suspicion  had 
not  fallen  on  any  one  in  Beckthorp  ;  half  the  parish 
had  gone  to  see  the  ram-rod,  which  now  hung  in 
the  lodge,  by  permission  of  the  Squire.  The 
mastiff,  too,  came  in  for  a  share  of  attention ;  for 
she  had  come  home  late  on  that  eventful  night,  with 
drops  of  blood  about  her  muzzle  and  chest,  and  a 
nasty  stab  in  the  shoulder.  Even  the  visitors  who 
were  staying  at  Nether  Beckthorp  for  the  bathing 
got  interested  in  the  mystery,  and  more  than  one 
of  them  assumed  the  character  of  amateur  detec- 
tive, hunting  the  woods  about  for  traces  of  gun 
or  knife,  much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  shooting 
party. 


42  VELVETEENS. 

A  few  days  after  the  funeral  a  coal-barge  was 
seen  to  anchor  off  the  village ;  about  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  a  small  boat  put  off  for  shore. 
The  street  from  Beckthorp  to  Nether  Beckthorp 
ended  abruptly  at  the  cliff  edge ;  a  low  wall  pre- 
vented you  driving  down  on  to  the  stones  and 
breaking  your  neck ;  but  if  you  wished  to  walk 
to  the  shore,  there  was  a  narrow,  winding  path  by 
which  you  could  descend. 

At  the  top  of  the  cliff  there  was  a  wooden  seat, 
whence  you  could  look  out  over  the  sea ;  this 
was  a  favourite  lounge  for  the  old  salts  and  for 
visitors  who  wanted  to  talk  to  the  natives. 

But  this  afternoon  there  were  some  children,  look- 
ing rather  scared  and  clinging  to  their  nursemaids' 
skirts,  as  a  well-dressed  woman  of  about  thirty-five 
years  passed  quickly  and  restlessly  to  and  fro.  She 
was  tall  and  thin,  and  had  raven-black  hair  and 
black  eyes  with  red  circles  round  them  ;  it  was  a 
face  that  must  have  once  been  beautiful,  but  suffer- 
ing had  marred  and  scarred  it  out  of  all  recogni- 
tion. There  was  something  very  awesome  in  her 
fierce,  hungry  eyes,  and  in  the  low  mutterings 
to  which  she  gave  vent. 

"  She  is  talking  to  herself.  What  does  she  say  ? " 
said  one  child. 

"She  goes  backwards  and  forwards  like  the- tiger 
in  the  Zoo/'  said  another. 

The  nursemaids  looked  for  enlightenment  to  the 
four  or  five  fishermen  who  stood  about,  calmly 
smoking  and  taking  no  heed. 

"  Who  is  yon  woman  ? "  at  length  one  ventured 
to  ask. 

The  old  man  drew  his  pipe  slowly  out  of  his 
mouth,  and  said — 

"We  calls  her  Aunt  Bessie." 

A  little  group  of  children  began  to  gather  round 
the  fisherman. 


AUNT  BESSIE.  43 

;  "You  see/'  he  began,  pressing  down  the  baccy 
affectionately  into  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  with  the 
thumb  of  his  left  hand,  "she  is  not  quite  herself 
to-day,  poor  thing." 

"  Why  not  ?  why  not  ?  What  is  the  matter  with 
her?"  ' 

"It's  all  along  o'  that  there  smack,  miss." 

"  Lor1 !  who's  been  a-smacking  on  her  ? " 

"  Bah !  you  don't  take  me  properly ;  'tain't  no 
smack  she's  had.  Haven't  you  seen  her  sitting 
here  every  afternoon  from  two  till  near  five,  as 
quiet  as  a  mouse  ? " 

"  Yes ;  gazing  out  over  the  sea  and  knitting, 
knitting,  knitting." 

"That's  it — and  waiting,  waiting,  waiting," 
said  the  sailor ;  "  but  to-day  she  sees  that  there 
wessel,  and  she's  excited,  ain't  she  ? " 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it,  please." 

"Tain't  much  of  a  yarn,  young  ladies;  how- 
somever,  that  young  woman  was  twenty  years  back 
the  prettiest  girl  in  the  place,  and  there's  heaps 
on  'em  wanted  to  marry  her.  But  no !  there  wasn't 
nobody  good  enough  for  she ;  they  got  nowt  but 
snubs  for  their  pains,  I  reckon.  Till,  one  day, 
a  young  man  as  had  a  farm  up  country  came  and 
took  lodgings  for  the  summer  in  her  house,  got  a 
fancy  for  her,  courted  her,  and — well,  they  were 
spliced  that  September  in  Beckthorp  Church." 

The  old  man  took  a  few  meditative  whiffs,  and 
resumed — 

"The  bridegroom  took  a  fancy  to  a  row  in  one 
of  them  small  boats  in  the  afternoon ;  he  went  by 
hisself,  and  left  his  wife  in  the  house,  packing  up 
of  her  things  for  to  go  to  her  new  home.  It  was 
about  equinox  time,  I  reckon,  and  the  sky  had 
a  wild  look — little  bits  o'  cloud  scudding  across, 
a  film  forming  over  the  blue," 


44  VELVETEENS. 

Here  he  took  a  few  more  whiffs  and  looked  across 
the  sea. 

"Aye,  it  were  John  Fletcher — he  says,  'Look 
here,  lad  ;  don't  you  go  out  fur,  or  you'll  get  blowed 
away.' 

"  '  All  right,  old  chap,'  says  bridegroom,  '  I  knows 
summut  about  boats  by  this  time  ;  tell  Bessie  to  have 
a  cup  o'  tea  ready  by  I  come  back,  will  yer  ? ' 

"  So  he  paddled  away.  Water  was  calm  and  clear  ; 
I  mind  it  as  though  it  were  but  yesterday.  The 
poor  young  man  pushed  off,  with  a  crowd  of  young 
lads  making  fun  of  him,  and  shouting,  'Where's 
your  bride,  lad  ?  You've  forgotten  Miss  Bessie.1 

"And  he,  as  blithe  as  you  like,  took  off  his  hat  and 
waved  it  i'  the  air,  singing  a  jolly  good  song  the 
while.  Ah !  he  was  a  hearty  young  man — he  was. 
Well,  he  rowed  out  to  sea,  stopping  now  and  again 
to  peer  down  into  the  clear  water,  and,  maybe, 
admire  the  seaweed  and  the  shells — they  look  very 
pretty,  miss,  all  tangled  about  the  white  rocks  at 
bottom. — O  Lord !  how  Aunt  Bessie  do  excite 
herself  now  she  sees  the  boat  ashore." 

The  listeners  turned  to  look ;  there  was  the  poor 
woman  waving  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  with 
frantic  gestures  from  the  cliff.  She  finished  by  run- 
ning down  the  path  to  the  beach. 

"  Ah,  poor  thing !  will  nothing  teach  you  'tis  no 
manner  of  use  ?  Where  was  I  in  my  yarn  ?  Let's 
see  !  Oh !  ah ! — And  then  a  gust  of  wind  came 
clap !  the  water  turned  all  dark  in  a  moment ;  the 
wind  caught  the  boat  like  a  mill-stream  with  a 
feather,  and  in  five  minutes  he  had  gone  out  of 
sight ;  for  it  came  on  all  dark.  We  got  out  some  of 
our  boats  and  sailed  backwards  and  forwards,  but 
to  this  day  neither  he  nor  his  boat  have  been  seen 
again.  What,  miss  ?  how  long  ago  ?  A  deal  over  ten 
year,  aye,  fifteen  year  it  must  be.  And  every  after- 


AUNT  BESSIE.  45 

noon  in  the  year,  since  then,  has  that  poor,  silly 
creetur  been  down  to  the  town-end  to  gaze  over 
the  sea  for  her  husband.  She  allers  puts  on  her 
wedding-dress,  in  case  he  should  come ;  but,  as 
you  see,  whenever  there's  any  vessel  in  the  offing, 
or  any  strange  boat  comes  ashore,  she's  that  mad 
with  hope  and  fear  that  she  ramps  about  and  talks 
to  hersen,  and  there's  no  holding  her  at  all- 
poor  creetur !  " 

At  this  moment  they  saw  Aunt  Bessie  approach 
the  group  of  men  who  were  surrounding  the  small 
boat.  Almost  immediately  afterwards  she  turned  to 
come  back,  holding  her  head  down.  When  she  got 
nearer  they  could  hear  her  sobbing — sobbing,  and 
yet  talking  to  herself. 

"  Oh,  Harry,  you  said  you  would  come  back  when 
tea  was  ready ! — too  bad,  too  bad  !  I've  prayed  and 
prayed  till  my  knees  were  sore.  What  does  God 
care  for  a  poor  woman  like  me  ?  He  will  drive 
me  mad  one  of  these  days.  Harry !  Harry ! 
Harry ! " 

The  last  three  cries  were  so  heartrending  that  the 
children  ran  away,  and  the  nursemaids  wept ;  but 
the  old  sailor  smoked  on  calmly,  and  when  Aunt 
Bessie  passed  him,  he  said — 

"  I'm  afraid  he's  not  come  to-day,  Bessie  ? " 

"  No  ;  but  he  will — he  shall — he  shall  come  !  "  she 
screamed  in  a  fierce  tone,  with  flashing  eyes, 
causing  such  a  sensation  among  the  visitors  that 
the  little  boys  flocked  about  her,  like  hounds  about 
a  wounded  lioness. 

However,  one  of  the  fishermen  moved  them  back, 
and  walked  with  her  up  the  street  till  she  reached 
her  home. 

They  would  not  have  had  Aunt  Bessie  put  to 
shame  by  the  visitors  for  many  golden  sovereigns. 
She  embodied  one  little  life-tragedy  amongst  them, 


46  VELVETEENS. 

of  which  they  had  plenty  more  in  their  hearts  :  but 
she  was  a  walking  memorial  of  a  kindred  sorrow ; 
her  weakness  had  become  to  them  something  almost 
sacred. 

Minnie  Fletcher  was  sitting  at  the  tea-table  when 
she  entered. 

"  One  more  day  gone,  and  he  hasn't  come ! " 
said  the  poor  bride  with  quivering  lip. 

Minnie  kissed  her  hand,  and,  touching  her  fore- 
head, said — 

"  How  hot  your  head  is  to-day.  Has  there  been 
a  boat  ashore  ? " 

"  Yes — another  boat ;  and  he—  '  But  she  burst 
into  a  passion  of  sobs. 

"  There,  there,  darling !  do  try  to  cry ;  your  tears 
will  relieve  your  head.  Take  off  your  bonnet — so. 
Now  let  me  pour  you  out  a  cup  of  tea." 

Aunt  Bessie  grew  calmer,  sipped  her  tea  in  silence, 
till  she  put  out  her  hand,  and  said— 

"Minnie,  never  marry  a  man  who  lives  by  the 
sea ;  it's  the  cruelest  of  all  God's  creatures." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

JEAN  FORBES  HAS  VISITORS. 

JEAN  was  setting  the  tea-things  on  the 
table  a  day  or  two  after  the  disappoint- 
ment of  Aunt  Bessie  ;  the  dresser  was 
full  of  cartridges,  which  she  had  been 
refilling ;  there  was  also  a  stuffed  owl 
being  set  up  by  her  nimble  hands,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  she  had  been  giving  an  occasional  stir  to  some 
savoury  pottage  that  was  simmering  on  a  large 
black  pot  upon  the  fire. 

"  May  we  come  in,  Miss  Forbes  ? "  said  a  clear- 
voiced  girl  at  the  door. 

"Oh,  Minnie  Fletcher — that's  right,  come  in  and 
have  a  dish  of  tea.  Ah,  and  Aunt  Bessie  too! 
Very  glad  to  see  you  both,  neighbours.  Come, 
sit  you  down.  It's  getting  chilly  now,  isn't  it  ? " 

"It's  always  a  pleasure  to  come  here,"  said 
Minnie ;  "  things  look  so  clean  and  nice,  and 
there's  such  a  lot  of  queer  animals  and  things 
to  look  at.  What  have  you  done  with  the  stuffed 
weasel  that  was  running  after  the  rabbit  ? " 

"A  gentleman  at  the  Hall  has  bought  it.  I'm 
doing  an  owl  now,  It's  not  finished  yet ;  he  is 
going  to  pounce  upon  a  poor  little  mouse  when  I've 


4&  VELVETEENS. 

time  to  attend  to  him.  Well,  Aunt  Bessie,  and 
how  do  you  keep  ? " 

"  Pretty  fair,  in  spite  of  great  disappointments, 
thank  you." 

"Ah,  I've  heard  of  your  wonderful  patience  !  I'm 
sure,  if  I  were  in  your  place,  Aunt  Bessie,  I  should 
have  given  him  up  long  ago." 

"No,  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  other,  fixing  her 
great  black  eyes  upon  Jean;  "not  if  you  saw  the 
visions  I  see  o'  times — aye,  and  hear  his  voice,  I 
do,  in  the  night  time,  as  clear  as  a  bell" 

"  Do  you  really,  now  ?  And  you  still  think  he  is 
alive?" 

It  was  useless  for  Minnie  to  make  signs  to  Jean 
to  drop  the  subject.  Jean  was  cutting  and  buttering 
the  bread  all  the  time,  and  took  no  notice  of 
Minnie. 

"I  know  he  is  alive — I  know  it  because  he 
talks  to  me.  Poor  Harry — a  long  time  it  is  since  our 
wedding-day.  But  he  tells  me  to  keep  tea  ready 
for  him  ;  and  I  do,  don't  I,  Minnie  ? " 

"Yes,  aunt;  but  you  will  make  your  head  ache 
if  you  talk  so  much,  dear." 

"Ah,  for  headache  there  is  nothing  so  good  as 
the  slough  of  a  last  year's  snake.  Here's  a  capital 
one  that  Angus  unravelled  out  of  the  grass 
himself.  Don't  be  frightened  at  it ;  the  skin  of  a 
snake  set  in  your  hat — like  this — is  a  certain 
cure." 

"If  Angus  found  it,  I  think  Minnie  ought  to 
wear  it,"  said  Aunt  Bessie,  with  a  sly  look  at  Jean. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean  ;  "he  would  be  so  happy  if  you 
would  take  it" 

"  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  have  it,  Jean ;  things 
like  that  may  do  mischief — I  mean,  I  shouldn't  like 
your  brother  to  think  I  was  encouraging  him.  I've 
not  made  up  my  mind  at  all." 


JEAN   FORBES   HAS  VISITORS.  49 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  you  say  that,  Minnie.  My 
brother  worships  the  ground  you  tread  on, 
and  I  hoped  you  knew  what  a  good  fellow  he  is. 
Good  heart  is  better  than  fair  face." 

"So  it  is,'1  said  Aunt  Bessie,  "and  (as  I  say 
to  Minnie)  marry  a  man  whose  feet  are  fast  on  the 
land  ;  it's  weary  work  watching  those  cruel,  crawling 
waves.  But  Minnie  is  that  headstrong !  " 

"  I  can't  be  driven  into  marrying  a  man — let 
him  be  ever  so  respectable,"  said  Minnie,  tossing  her 
head  rather  defiantly. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Jean ;  "you  want  to  choose 
for  yourself;  and  everybody  knows  best  what  they 
choose  a  man  for.  It  isn't  everybody  who  cares  to 
have  for  husband  a  quiet,  hard-working  young  man 
like  my  brother — there's  tastes  and  there's  tastes." 

Jean  could  toss  her  head,  too,  when  her  family 
honour  was  at  stake.  After  this  bit  of  fencing,  there 
was  a  long  silence,  only  broken  by  the  prolonged 
sipping  of  hot  tea. 

"  You've  got  a  nice  home  here,"  said  Aunt  Bessie, 
looking  at  the  pretty  stone  window-settings  and 
the  good  oak  beams.  "In  the  winter-time  one 
might  keep  one's  self  here  as  warm  as  a  dormouse." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,"  and  I'm  sure  it's  a  nice  position 
to  be  with  so  kind  a  gentleman  as  Squire  Hervey  ;  he 
treats  all  his  men  as  if  they  were  men  like  himself." 

"Tis  a  pity  he's  got  to  die  one  day,"  said 
Minnie.  "If  I  were  you,  I  should  be  always  in  a 
quake  for  fear  that  young  Snarler  should  come  into 
the  property.  Now,  down  at  our  place,  we  most  of  us 
have  our  own  houses,  and  nobody  can  turn  us  out." 

"  'Deed  ?  and  'tis  a  hard  life  you  have  sometimes, 
Minnie  Fletcher." 

"  Aye,  fishing  is  not  what  it  was  years  ago ; 
those  Yarmouth  smacks  and  the  big  Grimsby  vessels 
— steam,  some  of  'em — make  a  difference  to  us.  Yet 

E 


SO  VELVETEENS. 

we  make  a  tidy  harvest  in  the  summer  with  letting 
lodgings." 

"Yes,  as  soon  as  you  begin  to  sacrifice  your 
independence,"  said  Jean,  maliciously,  "you  make 
some  money  ;  but  when  you  are  stuck  up  with  pride 
and  independence  you  starve." 

"  You  ought  to  be  a  lawyer,  Jean,  your  tongue  is 
so  ready,"  said  Minnie,  laughing;  "but  I  don't 
blame  you  for  standing  up  for  your  own  brother."  \ 

Just  then  the  door  was  opened,  and  little  Willie 
came  in  slowly. 

"Bless  the  boy!  what's  he  been  doing?"  said 
Jean,  seeing  his  swollen  eyes. 

"I've  been  bea — beaten  with  a  stick,"  sobbed 
the  lad. 

"  Eh !  and  who  has  dared  to  lay  a  finger  on 
you,  Willie?" 

"Mister  Aubrey  licked  me  for — for  frightening 
up  some  birds." 

"  But  why  did  you  fright  them  ?  You  ought  not 
to  have  got  in  the  way." 

"But  he — he — he — he  told  me  to  go  across  the 
stubble;  and  I  did  my  best,  I'm  sure.  Take  care  ; 
that  arm's  bad,  Jean." 

"  Why,  your  fingers  are  all  bleeding,  my  dear." 

"  Don't  touch  me ;  I'm  aching  all  over.  He 
wanted  to  give  me  half  a  crown,  when  the  other 
gentlemen  cried  '  Shame '  on  him ;  but  I  flung 
it  in  the  dirt." 

Jean  kissed  him,  saying,  "  My  poor,  wee  bairn ! " 

Minnie  Fletcher  said,  "Well  done,  brave  Scot- 
land !  What's  bred  in  the  bone  comes  out,  you  see, 
when  it's  wanted." 

Jean  with  some  trouble  stripped  the  boy  to  his 
waist,  and  all  three  women  exclaimed  aloud  when 
they  saw  the  huge  blue  marks  across  his  shoulders 
and  little  arm, 


JEAN   FORBES  HAS  VISITORS.  51 

As  Jean  and  Minnie  busied  themselves  with 
bathing  the  child,  Aunt  Bessie  sat  silent  in  her  chair, 
rocking  herself  nervously  to  and  fro.  At  length  she 
said — 

"  The  little  lad  looks  sadly ;  put  him  to  bed, 
Jean  Forbes,  and  I  will  go  up  to  the  Hall  and 
demand  justice."' 

"No,  no,  aunt,"  said  Minnie,  in  a  firm  voice; 
"it's  no  business  of  ours,  and  you  might  lose  Mr. 
Forbes  his  place.  God  knows  my  heart  is  stirred 
at  the  sight  of  the  little  lad,  and  I  would  gladly 
go  with  you  if  we  could  do  any  good." 

"  I  think  you  had  better  leave  it  to  my  brother, 
Aunt  Bessie,"  said  Jean. 

Hardly  was  Willie  got  into  bed,  when  some  one 
tapped  at  the  door.  Two  young  gentlemen  entered, 
one  of  them  being  the  Lord  Haverden  who  had 
visited  the  village  club. 

".Has  your  son  returned,  Mrs.  Forbes  ? "  he  asked. 

"My  little  brother,  sir,  you  mean,"  said  Jean, 
offering  chairs. 

As  Minnie  and  Aunt  Bessie  rose  to 'leave,  Lord 
Haverden  said — 

"  Pray  don't  move ;  we  have  only  come  in  for  a 
minute  to  see  if  the  poor  little  fellow  reached  home 
all  right.  I'm  afraid  he  has  been  cruelly  punished  ? " 

"  He  has  been  sorely  bruised,  sir,"  replied  Jean, 
"  and  I  should  be  much  obliged  if  you  would  step 
this  way  and  see  for  yourself.  I  don't  know  if 
there  be  any  bones  broken." 

The  two  gentlemen  followed  Jean  into  the  bed- 
room. 

The  two  women  remained  in  the  front  room  ; 
after  a  few  minutes  they  heard  one  of  the  gentlemen 
say — 

"Well,  Willie,  old  chap,  if  that  had  been  done  at 
my  school,  do  you  know  what  Mr.  Aubrey  would 
have  got  f " 


52  VELVETEENS. 

"  No  sir,"  said  Willie,  in  a  weak  voice. 

"  Why,  he  would  have  had  a  monitor's  whopping  ; 
that  means,  twelve  of  the  biggest  fellows  in  the 
school  would  have  given  him  a  cut  with  their  cane. 
Well,  as  we  are  guests  at  the  Hall,  we  could  not  do 
that,  but  we  let  him  know  that  he  was  a  beastly 
coward,  didn't  we,  Haverden  ? " 

"We  did,"  replied  the  other,  rather  absently; 
and  then,  when  his  friend  was  coming  out  of  the 
bedroom,  he  stooped  over  the  boy,  and  said— 

"  I've  got  such  a  jolly  knife  for  you — six  blades, 
and  I  don't  know  what  else  besides.  Would  you 
like  to  have  it,  Willie  ? " 

"  Oh,  sir,  thank  you ;  what  a  beauty !  Jeannie, 
come  and  see  what  the  gentleman  has  given  me." 

After  the  knife  had  been  well  admired  by  all, 
Lord  Haverden  held  out  in  his  hand  a  card, 
saying — 

"Miss  Forbes,  I  know  all  about  your  brother 
and  poor  father,  and  if  ever  you  should  be  in 
want  of  a  friend,  just  write  to  me,  at  that  address, 
and,  if  I'm  alive,  I  will  not  be  found  wanting." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jean,  blushing  and  dropping 
a  graceful  curtsey ;  then  giving  another  look  at  the 
card,  she  hastily  corrected  herself,  "  Thank  you  very 
much,  my  lord,  for  your  kindness  ;  and  you,  too, 
sir.  Good  night,  gentlemen." 

The  three  women  examined  the  card  and  the 
address  with  much  interest  and  some  mirth. 

"It's  another  loss  of  independence,"  said  Jean, 
laughing.  "  I'll  go  and  tell  Willie  who  it  was  that 
gave  him  the  knife." 

Presently  she  returned  with  her  finger  to  her  lip. 

"  Hark !  he  sleeps  already  ;  you  can  hear  the  poor 
bairnie  sobbing  in  his  sleep." 

Quietly  the  two  callers  said  "Good-bye,"  and 
quitted  the  keeper's  lodge. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


SOME     CONSEQUENCES. 

[T  was  about  an  hour  later  that  Jean 
heard  her  brother  come  in  at  the  wicket 
gate  and  put  the  dogs  in  their  kennel. 
Then,  she  could  hear  him  give  them 
their  supper,  and  help  the  beaters  and 
carriers  to  hang  up  the  game  in  the  safe  at  the 
back  of  the  lodge. 

Presently  she  heard  him  bid  them  "  Good  night/' 
and  began  to  dish  up  his  supper.  It  was  dark  out- 
side, but  the  wood  fire  cast  a  ruddy,  comfortable 
glow  on  all  within. 

"So  here  you  are  at  last,  Angus!  You're  very 
late  the  night." 

"  Rather  late.    Where's  Willie  ? " 
"  In  bed,  poor  lad ;  tell  me  about  it  as  soon  as 
you've  got  your  boots  off,  and  washed  your  hands." 
Angus  stole  to  the  boy's  bedside  and    watched 
him  for  some  time  ;  when  he  returned  to  his  supper, 
Jean  was  sitting  by  the  table,  doing  her  knitting. 
She  began  by  explaining  how  Willie  came  home, 
and  how  Lord  Haverden  and  his  friend  called  to 
ask  how  her  brother  was,  and  how  kind  they  both 


54  VELVETEENS. 

had  been.  She  did  not  allude  to  the  card,  though 
she  had  put  it  carefully  away  in  her  writing-desk. 

"Well,  Jeannie,"  said  Angus,  as  he  helped 
himself  again,  "I  never  felt  more  like  knocking  a 
man  down  than  I  did  when  I  saw  Willie  yonder 
being  thrashed  by  that  bully.  There  was  no  reason 
for  it,  neither.  Mr.  Aubrey  himself  had  ordered 
Willie  to  run  across  a  corner  of  the  field  to  tell 
some  of  the  beaters  to  move  up  ;  and  on  his  way  he 
roused  a  covey  of  birds  too  far  off  to  shoot  at. 
When  Willie  came  back  to  us,  Mr.  Aubrey  seized 
him  by  the  collar,  and  shook  him  till  he  was  red 
in  the  face,  calling  him  a  little  fool  for  going 
through  the  stubble ;  and  when  Willie  replied, 
'  You  told  me  to ! '  then  young  master  took  up  a 
stick,  and  let  into  him  with  all  his  might,  and 
said,  '  I'll  teach  you  manners,  you  little  devil ! ' " 

"  I  promise  you,  Jean,  it  was  only  by  thinking  of 
what  would  become  of  you  if  I  struck  him,  that  I 
managed  to  restrain  my  anger.  Luckily  that  plucky 
Lord  Haverden  and  Mr.  Crosby  came  running 
up  ;  and  his  lordship  seized  the  stick,  crying, 
'  For  shame !  Are  you  mad,  Hervey  ? '  Well,  then 
you  should  have  seen  young  master's  face ;  his 
eyes  were  like  red-hot  coal :  but  his  young  lord- 
ship stood  up  to  him — he's  only  a  boy  at  school, 
they  tell  me, — and  he  folded  his  arms  across  his 
chest,  and  said,  '  Strike  me,  you  coward,  if  you  like  ; 
but  if  you  touch  that  little  boy  again,  I'll  let  you 
see  what  the  champion  light-weight  at  Harrow  can 
do/  But  young  master  saw  he  had  met  his  match, 
and  muttering,  '  Don't  be  a  fool,  Haverden  ! '  strode 
off. 

"  I  went  to  Willie,  and  felt  him  to  see  if  there 
were  any  bones  broken,  and  then  I  told  one  of 
the  beaters  to  see  him  home.  By  the  time  we  had 
walked  the  stubble,  Lord  Haverden  and  his  friend 


SOME  CONSEQUENCES.  55 

said  to  me,  '  We've  had  enough  of  this,  Forbes  ;  tell 
Mr.  Aubrey  that  we  have  gone  home,  will  you  ? ' 
The  other  gentlemen  knew  nothing  of  what  had 
happened,  and  so  we  kept  on  all  right.  But  as  we 
were  coming  home  up  the  street,  you  know,  past 
the  club,  there  was  a  pretty  tidy  lot  of  folk  standing 
about.  Well,  I  couldn't  say  for  certain  who  they 
were,  because  it  was  beginning  to  get  very  dusky, 
but  there  was  a  good  few  boys  amongst  them,  and 
some  of  them  began  calling  out,  '  Has  he  killed 
Willie,  Angus  ? '  and  some  hissed.  You  may  guess 
it  was  not  very  pleasant  for  me,  hearing  my  name 
brought  into  it  like  that.  *  What's  all  this  about, 
Forbes  ? '  one  or  two  of  the  gentlemen  said  to  me  ; 
but  I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  pretended  not  to 
know.  Well,  it's  the  worst  thing  that  ever  could 
have  happened  for  us." 

"Minnie  Fletcher  and  her  aunt  were  up  here 
when  Willie  came  home.  I  dare  say  they  went  and 
told  it  in  the  village." 

"Minnie  been  here?  Why  didn't  you  say  so 
afore?" 

"There  were  other  things  more  important  to 
speak  about." 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it,  then,  Jean. 
I'm  quite  fond  and  foolish  about  that  girl.  And 
she's  been  up  to  see  me  ? " 

"  No  ;  she's  been  to  see  me,  silly.  I  wouldn't  think 
too  much  about  her ;  she  doesn't  seem  to  know  her 
own  mind  yet  at  all.  There's  a  cousin  of  hers  been 
after  her  ever  so  long." 

"  Did  she  say  anything  about  him — or  me  ? " 

"No;  I  think  not.  I  don't  know  that  I  quite 
like  her,  Angus.  She's  got  that  defiant  air  that 
all  the  fisher-folk  have.  She  seems  to  hold  to  her 
own  people  as  much  as  the  rest  of  them.  That 
poor  widow  that  they  call  '  Aunt  Bessie '  came 


56  VELVETEENS. 

with  her,  and  almost  scared  me  with  her  large, 
black  eyes ;  but  there's  a  sadness  in  them  that 
wins  your  love.  I  often  think  Minnie  will  look 
like  her  when  she's  a  bit  older." 

"  Not  yet,  I  hope  ;  that  Aunt  Bessie  has  as  haggard 
a  face  as  a  witch.  I'm  sure  she  sees  more  than 
other  human  creatures  can." 

"  So  she  says :  she  tells  me  she  can  both  see 
and  hear  her  husband  in  the  dead  of  night ;  and 
when  she  tells  you  anything,  you're  bound  to 
believe  it,  she  looks  so  like  a  Jezebel — no,  I  mean 
a  Deborah." 

"Do  you  think  Minnie  would  make  a  man  a 
good  wife,  Jean  ? " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  do ;  else  I  shouldn't  have  cracked 
you  up  to  her  face,  as  I  did  this  evening.  She'd 
stick  to  you  through  thick  and  thin  ;  but  if  the 
young  master  was  Squire,  and  he  began  hectoring 
about,  she  would  lose  you  your  place  by  her  free 
manners." 

"  Don't  you  think  that  defiant  air,  as  you  call  it, 
is  the  result  of  her  independent  position  ?  If  she 
was  my  wife,  and  felt  that  a  free  tongue  would  ruin 
us,  she  would  learn  to  curb  it." 

"But  she  sees  all  that,  and  thinks  she  is  lower- 
ing herself  by  getting  into  such  a  position." 

Angus  remained  thoughtful  for  some  time  before 
he  said — 

"  Dear  father  used  to  say,  '  If  ever  you  get  out 
of  your  place,  and  can't  get  one  to  suit  you,  go  off 
to  New  Zealand,  or  Canada,  or  Australia.  There's 
money  in  the  bank  to  take  you  to  the  end  of  the 
world.  You're  a  Scotchman,'  he  used  to  say,  '  and 
your  breed  always  does  well  in  the  colonies.'  I've 
been  thinking,  ever  since  young  master  struck 
Willie,  that  if  the  Squire  died  we  would  emigrate 
and  seek  independence  in  a  new  country." 


SOME   CONSEQUENCES.  tf 

"Should  I  hint  that  to  Minnie  next  time  I  see 
her?" 

"  Yes,  you  might  sea  how  she  takes  to  the  idea, 
Jean.  By-the-by,  have  you  heard  lately  from  your 
young  man  ? " 

Jean  dropped  her  head  as  she  replied,  "  No ; 
he  writes  seldom,  and  is  always  full  of  grumbles. 
I  think  I  must  give  him  up.  When  you  marry, 
I  can  go  into  service." 

"No,  you  won't,  my  lass.  If  Minnie,  or  whoever 
it  is,  grudges  you  a  room  here,  then  Angus 
Forbes  remains  unmarried." 

Jean  smiled,  and  shook  her  head.  "  I  like  to  hear 
you  say  that ;  it  sounds  bonny  on  your  lips :  but 
I  know  men  better  than  that ;  they  mean  well,  poor 
things,  but  when  the  fire  of  temptation  comes,  they're 
as  weak  as  this  wool ; "  with  which  words  Jean 
passed  her  wool  through  the  candle  with  disastrous 
effects. 

Angus  lit  his  pipe,  and  became  absorbed  in 
thought.  Jean  was  busy  now  with  her  owl,  asking 
her  brother's  advice  at  times  on  some  knotty  point 
of  pose :  and  so  an  hour  or  more  went  by.  Then 
came  an  elaborate  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  grave 
face  of  Mr.  Brook,  the  Squire's  butler,  appeared. 

"  I  hope  I  see  you  well,  Miss  Forbes — and  the  little 
man?" 

"  He  is  asleep,  thank  you,  Mr.  Brook,  and  seems 
easier." 

"  Ah !  we  have  had  terrible  scenes  about  it  at  the 
Hall.  I  could  hear  the  Squire  pitching  into  Master 
Aubrey  before  dinner.  I  hate  listening,  you  know, 
but  really  their  voices  got  so  loud,  and  Master 
Aubrey's  was  so  nasty  and  rude,  that  I  put  my 
head  in — 

" '  Did  you  call,  sir  ? '  says  I,  as  smooth  as  melted 
butter. 


58  VELVETEENS. 

"' Confound  you,  Brook,  get  out!'  says  Master 
Aubrey. 

" '  I  am  not  your  servant,  sir/  says  I,  keeping  my 
dignity. 

" '  Did  you  call,  sir  ? '  I  says  again  to  my  master. 

" '  Well,  Brook/  says  the  Squire, '  I  shall  be  glad  if 
you  can  take  a  note  for  me  to  the  keeper's  lodge 
after  dinner,  and  ask  how  the  little  boy  is  getting 
on.  I  want  you  to  take  it  yourself/ 

" '  Certainly,  sir/  and  I  slowly  left  the  smoking- 
room,  fixing  Master  Aubrey  with  a  stony  stare 
of — wei^  say  a  stony  stare." 

"  Poor  master !  "  murmured  Angus. 

The  butler  went  on,  "As  soon  as  I  had  left  the 
room,  Mr.  Aubrey  began  again  at  his  father  quite 
awful.  The  pantry,  you  know,  is  just  along  the 
corridor,  and  it  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  myself 
from  hearing  every  word  that  was  spoken.  He 
called  his  father  a  dotage,  whatever  that  may 
mean,  and  said  he  didn't  behave  to  him  properly 
as  a  father  should,  and  he  was  always  taking  the 
part  of  the  villagers  against  him,  and  he  shouldn't 
stand  any  more  of  it ;  he  should  go  away  and  live 
in  London.  Then  came  a  low  murmur,  so  low 
that  I  thought  it  better  to  be  at  hand  in  case 
aught  should  happen  to  the  master — for  there's  no 
knowing  what  violence  that  young  man  might 
employ, — and  there  was  the  poor  old  gentleman 
pleading  with  his  son  not  to  disgrace  the  old  name. 
He  said  something — I  did  not  rightly  hear  what — 
about, '  If  your  poor  mother  had  been  alive ' — and 
then  what  do  you  think  was  the  heartless  answer  ? 
Why,  he  said, '  Bosh  ! '  You  hardly  believe  me,  Miss 
Forbes,  but  he  cried,  '  Bosh ! '  and  stamped  his  foot. 
It  nearly  made  me  fall  backwards — the  door  opened 
so  sudden,  and  Mr.  Aubrey  called  out — 

"'  Brook !' 


SOME  CONSEQUENCES.  g£ 

"'I'm  coming,  sir/  says  I,  recovering  myself  as 
well  as  I  could. 

" '  What,  are  you  listening  at  the  door,  eh  ? ' 
says  he,  sarcastic. 

" '  There's  no  occasion,  sir/  says  I,  '  you  shouts 
so  loud/ 

" '  If  you  don't  behave  yourself,  I'll  treat  you  as 
I  treated  the  keeper's  boy  to-day/  says  he,  looking 
very  nasty. 

"  I  had  a  nice  answer  on  my  lips  for  him,  but  when 
I  see  the  old  Squire  looking  so  woebegone  it  quite 
unmanned  me. 

"'Brook/  says  Mr.  Aubrey,  'tell  John  to  pack 
up  my  things.  I  shall  go  away  by  the  first  train 
to-morrow/ 

" '  Certainly,  sir/  says  I,  making  way  for  him 
to  pass.  Then  I  went  up  to  the  Squire,  and 
said,  'I'm  very  sorry  to  see  Mr.  Aubrey  so  put 
out,  but  I  expect  it  was  the  boys  hissing  him  in 
the  village.  He'll  be  better  to-morrow,  sir,  I'll  be 
bound/ 

" '  Brook/  says  master,  '  you  never  had  a  son  ;  you 
don't  know  what  it  is  I  am  suffering — and  you  may 
thank  God  you  don't/ 

" '  About  the  keeper,  sir  ? '  says  I,  after  as  decent 
a  pause  as  I  could  give  him,  considering  the  silver 
was  not  yet  put  out  on  the  table. 

" '  Ah,  yes  ;  come  in  for  the  letter  again.  I'll  have 
it  ready  in  five  minutes ;  and  tell  the  coachman  to 
get  the  dog-cart  ready  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow 
morning/ 

"  The  old  gentleman's  lip  was  set  firm.  He  could 
not  get  over  Mr.  Aubrey  saying  '  Bosh ! '  when  he 
reminded  him  of  his  dead  mother;  I  know  that  was 
what  made  him  so  resolute.  It  meant,  '  Out  you  go, 
my  lad,  till  I'm  dead/— that's  about  it." 

"  It  is  very  terrible  for  the  poor  old  gentleman/' 


60  VELVETEENS. 

said  Jean;  "but  it's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody 
any  good  ;  and  I  think  the  village-folk  won't  miss 
him  much." 

"  We  was  not  very  merry  at  dinner,  I  can  tell  you  : 
my  master  hardly  ate  a  morsel,  couldn't  do  anything 
but  sigh ;  the  gentlemen  kept  looking  at  one  another, 
and  I  had  some  ado  to  keep  their  glasses  full.  You 
see,  they  felt  a  bit  nervous-like,  and  had  nothing 
particular  to  do,  so  kept  on  sipping  the  sherry 
without  quite  knowing  what  they  was  doing.  I've 
known  gentlemen  do  that  quite  absent-minded,  and 
then  say,  '  Brook,  what  has  become  of  the  sherry  ? ' 
— it's  a  fact,  miss." 

The  butler's  face  actually  had  the  ghost  of  a 
smile  upon  it :  as  a  rule,  his  eminent  respectability 
did  not  allow  of  anything  so  frivolous.  Angus 
waited  till  the  smile  had  worked  itself  out,  and  then 
inquired  if  he  had  brought  him  the  promised  note. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  if  I  had  not  clean  forgotten  it," 
said  Mr.  Brook,  clapping  himself  all  over  smartly, 
to  discover  in  which  pocket  the  epistle  was  lying 
concealed.  "  Ah !  here  it  is,  with  my  own  private 
memorandums,"  he  cried,  as  several  small  pieces  of 
dirty  paper  fell  out  with  its  appearance.  "Read 
it,  read  it  at  your  leisure,  while  I  look  at  this  'ere 
howl." 

When  Angus  had  read  the  letter,  he  passed  it  on 
to  his  sister.  Mr.  Brook,  while  pretending  to  admire 
the  owl,  was  pricking  up  his  ears  for  any  scrap  of 
information  which  might  come  in  his  way ;  he  was 
very  curious  to  know  what  was  in  the  letter.  As 
Angus  did  not  seem  to  be  going  to  acquaint  him 
with  the  contents,  he  threw  out  a  bait  inquiringly. 

"  Well  ?  am  I  to  take  back  a  verbal  answer  ? " 

"I  don't  think  that  would  be  very  civil,  Mr. 
Brook,"  said  Angus.  "You  know,  perhaps,  what 
this  letter  says  ? " 


SOME  CONSEQUENCES.  6l 

Mr.  Brook  pursed  up  his  lips  and  simpered, 
trying  to  look  knowing  and  yet  guileless  ;  this  quite 
took  in  the  simple  keeper. 

"Then  there's  no  harm  in  my  telling  you  that 
master  very  kindly  asks  me  to  take  the  post  of 
head  keeper." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  the  butler  ;  "  and  I  congratu- 
late you  with  all  my  heart,  and  wish  you  joy." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  you,  Mr.  Brook  !  "  said  Angus 
and  his  sister. 

"Well,  if  you're  going  to  write  a  hanswer,  I 
must  be  saying  good  night ;  there'll  be  whisky 
and  soda  wanted  by  I  get  back." 

So  Mr.  Brook  made  a  dignified  and  polished 
exit. 

"  Well,  Jean,  it  has  come ;  and  I  guess  poor 
Willie's  flogging  hastened  the  Squire's  intentions. 
We  must  look  after  the  poor  lad  a  little  better, 
and  not  let  him  run  about  so  wild.  Doesn't  it 
seem  to  you  as  if  we  were  robbing  poor  father  of 
something — getting  into  his  shoes  so  quick  ? " 

"Ah,  brother,  when  you  are  away  all  day,  I  am 
constantly  thinking  of  father  and  dear  mother. 
There's  one  thing — if  you  don't  step  into  father's 
shoes,  somebody  else  will." 

"You're  right,  lassie.  Get  me  down  the  poems 
of  Robbie  Burns ;  father  aye  loved  to  read  them. 
Before  we  go  to  bed,  Jean,  I  will  read  you  a  bit 
he  marked  after  mother  died." 

And  Angus  read  in  a  voice  so  loud  and  clear 
that  the  fox  terrier  in  her  kennel  cocked  one  ear 
forward  and  listened— 

"  'The  voice  of  nature  loudly  cries, 
And  many  a  message  from  the  skies, 
That  something  in  us  never  dies  ; 
That  on  this  frail,  uncertain  state 
Hang  matters  of  eternal  weight ; 


62  VELVETEENS. 

That  future  life,  in  worlds  unknown, 
Must  take  its  hue  from  this  alone : 
Whether  as  heavenly  glory  bright, 
Or  dark  as  misery's  woeful  night.' 

"  I  think,  Jean,  we  can  thank  God  now,  and  get  us 
to  bed." 


CHAPTER  IX, 

THE  VICAR. 

[HE  Vicar  and  one  of  his  daughters  were 
making  some  calls  in  the  parish  a  few 
days  after  Willie's  ill-treatment.  It 
was  getting  to  the  end  of  September 
now,  and  the  leaves  were  turning  in  the 
woods.  The  Squire's  shooting  party  had  broken  up 
suddenly  after  the  hasty  disappearance  of  his  son. 
There  were  fewer  carriages  full  of  visitors  now 
rolling  about  the  villages,  and  the  natives  were 
being  left  to  themselves  and  to  their  quiet,  humdrum 
life.  The  Rev.  C.  Fraser  began  to  enjoy  himself 
now,  and  would  take  long  walks  with  one  daughter 
or  another,  sometimes  going  across  the  fields  to  the 
sea,  and  so  along  the  crisp  turf  of  the  undulating 
cliff,  or  throwing  pebbles  into  the  retreating  wave 
for  the  big  black  retriever  to  fetch  out.  Sometimes 
he  had  a  cottage  to  visit  on  the  other  side  of  the 
moor,  and  then  they  would  return  with  sprigs  of 
pink  heather  in  their  hats  ;  or  their  way  lay  through 
the  dark  woods  redolent  with  turpentine,  and  then 
they  would  amuse  themselves  by  watching  the 
gambols  of  the  rabbits,  standing  silent  for  a  long 


64  VELVETEENS. 

while  till  the  foolish  young  rabbits  thought  they 
were  only  trees  of  a  different  growth,  and  heeded 
them  not. 

Mr.  Fraser  was  bent  on  having  a  co-operative 
store  in  the  village,  of  which  all  the  villagers  should 
be  members  ;  he  had  just  heard  from  the  Squire 
that  two  cottages  near  the  club  could  be  had  for  the 
purpose,  and  he  was  this  afternoon  going  round  to 
broach  the  subject  to  some  of  his  parishioners. 

There  was  no  chapel  at  Beckthorp,  and  if  any 
one  yearned  after  a  more  free  and  easy  service  than 
he  could  get  at  the  parish  church,  he  had  to  go 
down|to  the  sea,  where  the  fisher-folk  had  built  for 
themselves  a  large  red-brick  building,  not  so  much 
because  of  any  difference  of  doctrine,  as  for  free- 
dom's sake  :  they  wanted  a  place  which  they  might 
call  their  own  ;  they  wanted  to  choose  their  own 
hymns  and  their  own  minister  ;  and  they  wanted  to 
be  able  to  "  sack  "  the  minister  of  their  choice,  if 
they  thought  fit.  But  they  were  quite  willing  to 
come  to  church  on  occasions,  to  be  married  and 
buried  according  to  the  ritual  of  the  Church  of 
England.  They  were  very  good  friends  with  the 
Vicar. 

Miss  Fraser  was  a  merry,  round-faced  girl  of  about 
nineteen.  She  had  several  sisters  equally  merry 
and  round-faced,  and  only  by  their  height  could 
you  tell  one  from  the  other. 

Mary  Fraser  and  her  father  had  just  tapped  at 
Harry  Bent's  door  ;  the  Vicar,  as  was  his  wont, 
opened  the  door  and  went  in,  but  found,  to  his  sur- 
prise, that  Harry  and  Giles  Fletcher  were  seated  at 
the  table,  enjoying  apparently  a  good  dinner. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Harry  ;  I  did  not  know  you 
dined  at  four  o'clock,  or  I  would  not  have  intruded. 
Bless  me,  what  very  fine  blackbirds  you've  got  there 
on  the  table  !  " 


THE  VICAR.  65 

"  Yes,  sir,  they  be  wonderful  fine  for  the  time 
of  year,"  replied  Mr.  Bent,  covering  his  confusion 
in  a  mug  of  ale.  But  seeing  that  the  Vicar  was 
laughing,  he  joined  in  the  laugh,  and  said,  "  You 
must  wink  a  little  bit,  sir,  and  consider  these  here 
birds  are  raised  in  our  own  back-yard,  if  you 
please." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  I  know  you  are  old 
at  this  game,  Harry,  and  it  seems  part  and  parcel 
of  your  nature  ;  our  good  Squire  winks  at  it,  too  :  but 
what  is  Giles  doing  with  blackbirds  ?  I  thought 
he  had  given  a  promise  to  a  certain  person  never 
to  go  out  after  the  Squire's  birds  again  ? " 

"  So  I  have,  sir ;  though  I  don't  see  how  you 
came  to  know  about  it.  But  I  am  not  out  after  'em 
now,  am  I,  sir  ? " 

"  Ah,  Giles,  you  are  young,  and  have  had  a  better 
bringing  up  than  Harry  ;  there  will  be  no  excuse 
made  for  you,  I  warn  you.  I  shall,  of  course,  say 
nothing  of  to-dciy's  feast,  but  you  can't  expect  to  go 
on  and  not  get  found  out.  You  know  the  proverb, 
'  Murder  will  out ; '  and  this  is  true,  if  it  be  only 
the  murder  of  hares  and  partridges.  Harry,  I  will 
call  again." 

As  they  walked  up  the  street,  May  said  to  her 
father— 

"  I  don't  like  the  look  of  Giles  Fletcher ;  he  has 
a  handsome  face,  but  his  eyes  look  sly.  When  you 
first  went  in,  I  saw  through  the  crack  in  the  door 
how  defiant  he  looked  ;  and  then,  when  you  spoke 
of  his  being  found  out,  he  turned  quite  white." 

"Yes,  Mary,  I'am  afraid  he  is  on  a  dangerous 
road.  He  consorts  with  bad  company,  and  cannot 
bear  to  be  rebuked." 

"What  a  pity  that  the  girl,  Minnie  Fletcher, 
seems  to  prefer  him  to  Angus  Forbes.  Angus  is 
worth  a  hundred  of  such  as  Giles  is." 


66  VELVETEENS. 

"  Oh  !  is  Angus  spoony  in  that  quarter  ?  I  always 
thought  he  would  never  stoop  to  such  a  frailty  as 
love.  Poor  Angus  !  when  your  steady,  blunt,  down- 
right man  of  action,  and  not  of  words,  does  fall  in 
love,  it  is  often  a  more  serious  affair.  I  must  have 
a  talk  with  Minnie  next  time  I  get  an  opportunity. 
Here,  I  am  going  in  now  to  do  some  work  ;  couldn't 
you  run  up  the  hill  and  call  at  the  lodge,  and  find 
out  if  Angus  is  ill  ?  He  was  not  singing  in  the 
choir,  last  night.  Yet  he  never  misses  church." 

So  Mary  tripped  up  to  the  keeper's  lodge. 

Forbes  and  his  sister  were  both  at  home,  engaged 
in  some  work  at  the  side  table. 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  disturbing  you  both  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,  Miss  Mary ;  pray  be  seated,"  said 
Jean. 

"  Papa  and  I  have  been  round,  asking  people 
if  they  would  take  shares  in  the  new  stores  we  are 
wishing  to  start." 

Angus  turned  from  his  work,  saying,  "  Anything 
that  the  Vicar  does  must  be  right,  and  perhaps  he 
has  thought  about  what  will  become  of  the  shop- 
keeper." 

"  Oh  yes ;  we  have  promised  to  give  them  some 
shares  in  the  stores.  There  are  not  many,  you  know  ; 
in  fact,  only  one  real  shop  at  the  post-office,  where 
they  sell  everything  you  don't  want,  and  never 
have  what  you  do." 

"Quite  right,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Jean,  laughing; 
"and  things  are  so  dear,  too.  It  would  be  nice 
having  a  good  store." 

"And  yet  several  mothers  that  we  have  seen 
fight  shy  of  it.  I  believe  they  think  we  are  going 
to  make  something  out  of  it.  We  had  such  trouble 
making  folks  understand  that  they  would  get  their 
things  cheaper  arid  better.  Tea,  for  instance,  which 
they  pay  two  shillings  a  pound  for  now,  they  will 


THE  VICAR.  67 

get  for  one  shilling  and  fourpence ;  cheese,  for 
which  they  pay  ninepence  and  tenpence,  will  cost 
sixpence.  And  at  the  end  of  the  year  those  who 
have  bought  shares  will  get  some  money  back — 
according  to  the  profits/' 

"Only  think!"  said  Jean,  her  Scotch  thrift 
approving  of  money  that  has  been  spent  coming 
back  like  an  Australian  boomerang. 

"I  do  not  yet  quite  see  who's  going  to  be  rich 
enough  to  buy  shares  ? "  said  Angus,  hesitatingly. 

"Papa  says  folk  must  begin  and  save  up  for 
them." 

"  It's  none  so  easy  to  save  on  twelve  or  even 
fifteen  shillings  a  week,  miss,  with  a  large  family 
to  keep.  Think  of  the  clothes  and  the  boots  and  the 
food,  and  sometimes  the  doctor's  bill.'1 

"  Yes  ;  it's  very  hard,  I  know." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Mary, — the  only  way 
really  to  know  is  to  suffer  want  yourself." 

"And  we  have  done  it,"  said  Mary,  colouring  a 
little.  "Why,  before  we  came  here  we  had  a  living 
in  Essex ;  it  ought  to  have  been  a  good  living. 
But  you  know  what  farming  has  come  to  down 
there.  There  was  no  tithe  to  be  had  ;  we  had  very, 
very  little  to  live  on.  I  shall  never  forget  those 
days  of  cold  and  hunger.  Poor  mother  caught  an 
illness  which  clings  to  her  still.  But  we  happily 
got  this  given  us,  and  we  soon  became  so  fat  and 
chubby  that  no  one  would  guess  we  only  had  meat 
once  a  week  in  our  young  days.  I  very  much  doubt 
if  your  brother,  Jean,  has  ever  known  what  it  is 
to  suffer  want." 

Mary  Fraser's  comic  imitation  of  the  slightly 
Scotch  accent  of  the  young  keeper  made  them  both 
laugh.  Angus  replied— 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Fraser,  for  saying  you 
had  not  suffered  want  I  think  I  might  be  excused 


68  VELVETEENS. 

for  saying  so.  I  can  only  say  I  respect  you  all  the 
more  for  your  experience,  and  for  the  brave  manner 
in  which  you  speak  freely  of  it.  Some  ladies  would 
have  been  ashamed  to  mention  it." 

"By  the  way,  Jean,  why  was  not  your  brother 
singing  bass  last  night  in  church  ?  He  is  so  seldom 
absent." 

Jean  looked  at  Angus,  and  smiled. 

Angus  coughed  ;  yes,  it  was  rather  a  bad  cough, 
for  him.  At  last  he  stammered  out,  with  a  red 
face — 

"  I — I — I  had  never  heard  the  Primitive  Metho- 
dists sing  in  their  own  chapel,  and  so  just  for  once, 
you  know — 

"Was  she  there?"  asked  Mary,  suddenly. 

"She?  who  is  she?  Do  you  mean ?"  The 

poor  fellow  reddened  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  and 
looked  at  Jean  for  help. 

"Yes,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Jean,  laughing  ;  "I  think 
you  have  about  guessed  the  attraction  that  took 
Angus  to  chapel." 

"Then  it  was  only  the  attraction  of  Minnie's 
bright  eyes,  Mr.  Forbes  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes  ;  perhaps,  if  I  speak  the  whole  truth,  I 
must  confess  that  I  wanted  to  hear  Minnie  Fletcher 
—she's  a  fine  singer." 

"  So  I  have  heard  ;  she  is  a  fine  girl,  too,  and 
father  says  a  good  girl,  and  would  make  a  man  a 
good  wife.  But  she's  like  most  of  us,  Jean, — she's 
very  wilful.  I'll  tell  you  what !  if  you  want  to  marry 
Minnie  Fletcher,  you  must  neglect  her  a  little  ;  don't 
make  so  much  of  her :  and,  Jean,  you  might  talk  to 
her  of  inviting  down  one  of  your  lowland  lassies 
for  your  brother  to  fall  in  love  with.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  that  would  touch  her." 

"Well,  I  never  thought  of  that,  Miss  Mary," 
said  Angus,  laughing. 


THE  VICAR. 


69 


"Ah,  I  see  I  must  give  you  some  lessons  in  this 
sort  of  trapping,  Mr.  Keeper.  But,  seriously,  I  do 
want  you  to  win  her.  But  I  must  be  off.  Good 
bye." 

"What  a  blithe,  merry  lass  she  is,"  said  Angus, 
watching  her  as  she  crossed  the  brook.  "  I  wonder 
if  there's  anything  in  it." 

"  I  will  try  her  receipt,"  said  Jean ;  "  but  now 
to  work  again." 


CHAPTER   X. 

A  PENNY  READING. 

autumn  had  passed  away  into  winter  ; 
the  trees  and  hedges  were  now  in  the 
grasp  of  the  north  wind,  and  very 
savagely  did  he  blow  across  the  frozen 
moor  from  his  icy  throne  in  Arctic  regions 
beyond  the  sea.  In  summer-time  it  was  a  matter  of 
boast  with  the  natives  that,  when  you  gazed  sea- 
ward, you  looked  at  an  expanse  of  water  which 
stretched  right  away  to  the  Pole,— pure  ocean 
undiluted  by  any  fresh  water  from  island  or  conti- 
nent ;  but  in  the  howling  months  of  January  and 
February  they  said  little  about  their  prized  North 
Pole,  but  were  glad  enough  to  squeeze  together  in 
the  ingle  neuk,  and  listen  to  the  old  stories  before 
the  fire.  Even  the  club  was  not  always  full  o' 
winter  nights,  unless  some  special  attraction,  such 
as  a  penny  reading,  or  a  concert,  called  them  out. 
There  is  one  going  on  to-night.  Let  us  enter  and 
enjoy  the  simple  amusements  of  the  hour. 

The  back  rows  are  full  of  boys  and  girls.  The 
boys  are — well,  I  think  they  must  have  got  the 
mumps,  so  strangely  do  their  cheeks  bulge  out,  No, 


A  PENNY   READING.  7t 

1  see  they  are  busy  on  buns ;  buns  are  cheap, 
to-night — a  mere  drug  in  the  market,  as  the 
chemist  from  Danby  said.  He  had  come  to  Beck- 
thorp  on  a  visit,  and  had  imparted  some  very 
useful  information  to  the  drug  department  of  the 
new  store  next  door ;  which  information  the  store 
committee  were  not  going  to  utilize.  "  If  you  get 
your  drugs  from  Danby,  you  will  save  ten  per 
cent."  Quite  so!  They  bowed  him  out  with  a 
ticket  for  the  entertainment.  And  here  he  was 
looking  around  rather  superciliously  till  he  came  to 
the  front  seats,  when  he  became  all  smiles  and  nods. 

The  boys,  then,  in  the  back  seats,  being  so  clogged 
with  bunny  matter,  could  hardly  utter  anything 
more  intelligible  than  " Where's  Bill?"  "Under 
the  bench — bun's  got  dropped."  "  Oh !  is  this  'ere 
it  ?  here's  something  soft  under  my  foot."  "  Drat 
you !  that's  my  bad  corn,  that  is."  Whereas  the 
girls  were  all  simpering  and  tittering,  and  tattling 
into  one  another's  bonnet-strings :  "  Do  ye  see 
Mister  Forbes  ?  "  "  He's  gone  behind  the  stage  to 
see  what  Giles  Fletcher  is  a  doin'."  "  Look  at 
Miss  Brown ;  did  ye  ever  see  such  a  back  hair 
as  that?"  "Lor',  Susie,  she's  got  her  false  front 
put  on  behind,  I  do  declare !  "  "  Hush !  here  comes 
the  Squire  ;  we  couldn't  hear  his  carriage  for  the 
snow."  "  How  worn  he  do  look,  to  be  sure ! " 
"  Who's  the  tall  young  gentleman  with  the  lady  ? " 
"Don't  you  know?  that's  the  Cappen — he's  come 
home  from  forren  parts."  "  Who's  the  young  lady  ? 
Ask  Mary  Bush :  she's  been  helping  in  the  Squire's 
kitchen.  I  say,  Mary,  who's  yon  ? " 

Mary  Bush  blushes  on  being  appealed  to  by  a 
whole  benchful,  and  changes  her  seat  in  order  to 
form  a  centre  of  information. 

-    "Who's  yon  with  the  Cappen— the  lady  with  the 
white  cloak  ? " 


72  VELVETEENS. 

i 

"  She's  a  tip- topper — Honourable  Miss  Gladys — 
I  don't  know  what  else — a  regular  'eap  of  names. 
Look  !  there's  her  brother." 

"  Why,  Jemima,  blessed  if  that  ain't  that  bloom- 
ing Lord  Haver — Haver — something,  what  behaved 
hisself  so  nice  last  summer  !  " 

"  So  it  is,  Lizzie  ;  and  to  think  he  should  have 
a  sister ! " 

"  And  why  shouldn't  he,  stoopid  ? " 
"Please    don't    take    me    up    so    smart,  Jenny 
Crofton  ;    I  was  a-going  to  say   '  a  sister  with   a 
white  shawl  and  real  diamonds/ — so  now!" 

But  we  must  not  stop  all  the  evening  listening 
to  the  young  girls.  A  seat  or  two  further  on 
there  are  some  old  men  in  smock-frocks — quite 
unfashionable  villagers  ;  they  have  each  got  their 
old  women  with  them,  dressed  in  black  gowns  and 
bonnets.  The  old  men  are  showing  the  gaps  in 
their  front  teeth,  and  preparing  to  be  amused  at 
everything  they  see ;  for  they  can't  expect  to 
hear  much  at  their  age.  The  old  women  have 
got  six  camphor  drops,  which  they  are  lending 
along  the  row.  "It'll  keep  the  cowd  out,  Sarey,  if 
you'll  press  it  to  your  gums  for  half  a  minute. 
Don't  go  eating  of  them,  'cause  they  be  a  very 
special  lot,  three  ha'pence  the  half  ounce.  No,  it 
won't  melt  yet  awhile." 

"  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Jones  ?  Didn't  think  to 
see  you  here  with  your  rheumatis.  Will  you  try  the 
camphor  drop  ?  Sarey,  where's  that  there  paper  ? 
If  you've  eaten  them,  I  shall  never  hear  the  last 
of  it.  Ah  !  here  it  is  again." 

The  next  two  rows  are  full  of  fisher-folk  from 
Nether  Beckthorp. 

"And  is  he  going  to  get  Mr.  Thomson  to  build 
him  a  house  ?  Is  he  indeed  !  " 

"Yes,  he'll  borrow  half,  and  half  he's  made  by 
his  boat" 


A  PENNY  READING.  73 

"  It's  my  opinion  that  them  summer  lodgers  pay 
better  than  fishing." 

"They  do;  why  didn't  our  father  think  on  that 
years  ago  ? " 

"Why,  you  silly,  there  was  no  train  came  near 
us  then." 

"  No  more  there  was.  I  am  thronged  with  lobster, 
and  can't  think." 

"  I  say,  Ruth  Fletcher,  is  Giles  going  to  marry 
Minnie?" 

"  I  think  so  ;  his  mother's  been  buying  a  new  bed 
and  a  basin  and  a  jug.  They'll  have  to  join  at  one, 
I  reckon  ;  the  old  woman's  that  saving — she  is." 

"It's  well  being  Minnie,  and  having  first  choice," 
sighed  a  young  girl  whose  nose  had  forgotten  to 
sprout  when  the  rest  of  her  was  growing. 

And  now  we  come  to  the  front  seats,  we  must 
not  be  so  rude  as  to  listen  to  their  comments.  The 
third  row  were  all  the  servants  from  the  Hall,  and 
as  they  sat  so  near  to  their  master  they  were  as 
quiet  as  mice  until  the  applause  began,  when 
they  thawed  and  melted,  and  became  a  volcano 
of  eruptive  encores.  Jean  Forbes  sat  next  to  Mr. 
Brook  and  the  head  gardener,  and  whenever  she 
made  a  remark  the  butler  waved  his  hand  gracefully 
(he  was  wearing  a  ring),  and  said — 

"We  shall  see  by-and-by,  Miss  Jean." 

In  the  front  row  sat  the  Squire  and  his  second 
son,  Captain  Hervey,  just  returned  from  India  ;  then 
Lord  Haverden  and  a  married  daughter  of  the 
Squire's,  and  the  Hon.  Miss  Gladys,  and  the  Vicar 
with  three  of  his  daughters. 

There  were  several  well-known  characters  bustling 
about  the  stage — Angus,  Giles,  Minnie,  the  Vicar's 
two  eldest  girls,  Harry  Bent,  the  Post-master,  and 
other  members  of  the  church  and  chapel  choirs, 
most  of  whom  were  just  in  that  state  of  nervous 


?4  VELVETEENS. 

excitement  that  they  could  not  keep  still  a  moment, 
and  if  they  set  off  to  do  anything  they  remembered 
something  else  which  must  be  done  first.  The 
consequence  of  all  this  was  that  they  were  con- 
stantly doubling  back,  like  hares  hard  pressed,  and 
falling  into  one  another's  arms.  As  there  was  a 
small  door  at  each  end  of  the  stage  which  led  to 
the  behind-scenes,  the  hare  no  sooner  disap- 
peared at  one  door  but  it  re-appeared  at  the  other. 
Now,  when  Angus  met  Miss  Fraser  and  nearly 
knocked  her  over,  they  both  laughed,  and  Angus 
blushed  and  begged  pardon.  Also,  when  Harry 
Bent  ran  tilt  into  Minnie's  stomacher,  he  was 
profuse  in  his  apologies  to  the  wayward  beauty  ; 
but  when  Angus,  turning  suddenly  to  do  an  errand 
for  Miss  Lucy  Fraser,  fairly  knocked  the  unfortunate 
Giles  over  as  he  was  stooping  to  pick  up  some  music, 
and  himself  sprawled  over  his  prostrate  rival,  the 
whole  assembly  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and 
the  little  boys  and  girls  at  the  back  jumped  upon 
their  seats,  shouting,  "  Hurrah !  go  it,  Angus ! " 
When  the  noise  had  subsided,  the  husky  voice  of 
Giles  was  heard  grumbling  as  he  wiped  himself 
down  with  a  coloured  pocket-handkerchief. 

"  Great  lout  of  a  rustic ! "  were  the  words  plainly 
heard  by  the  four  front  benches. 

Angus  at  first  looked  a  little  perplexed,  but, 
catching  a  hint  from  the  Vicar,  he  stepped  up  to 
Giles,  and  politely  offered  to  help  him  in  dusting 
his  coat. 

This  he  proceeded  to  do  with  some  vigour,  to 
the  great  glee  of  the  school  children,  who  shouted, 
"  Tie  a  knot  in  the  hankey !  tie  a  knot,  and  give  it 
'ot!"  At  length  Giles  Fletcher  was  fairly  dusted 
off  the  stage  in  high  dudgeon. 

Presently  the  Squire  tapped  on  the  floor  with  his 
stick;  and  Minnie,  Miss  Mary  Fraser,  Angus  and 


A  PENNY  READING.  7g 

Giles  came  upon  the  platform  with  music  fluttering 
in  their  hands  ;  they  looked  at  one  another  inquir- 
ingly once  or  twice. 

"  What's  up  now  ? "  shouted  a  rude  boy  at  the 
back. 

"Trying  to  take  the  time  from  Minnie,  don't 
yer  see  ? " 

"  Time  ?  what  time  ?    Where's  her  watch,  mate  ? " 

"  Silence  in  the  back  rows ! "  said  the  keeper  of 
the  club,  in  a  stentorian  voice,  just  as  the  quartet 
began. 

"  Hush,  hush !  silence  behind  there ! "  said  the 
people  in  front ;  and  every  row  except  the  two  last 
turned  round  with  a  rustle  and  a  scrape  to  see  what 
the  hubbub  was  about. 

Giles  had  recovered  his  temper  now ;  in  fact,  he 
could  hardly  sing  for  laughing,  and  some  of  his 
notes  became  an  inane  gurgle. 

Minnie  glanced  pretty  sharply  at  him,  but  in 
vain  ;  for  Giles  had  just  stepped  into  the  Three 
Jolly-boats  before  coming  up  the  street,  and  he 
was  now  a  bit  of  a  jolly-boat  himself.  He  had 
so  far  let  this  out  that  the  butler  had  nudged  the 
head  gardener  behind  Jean's  back.  This  nudge 
had  been  passed  on  with  whispered  comments  and 
winks  in  small  print.  Minnie's  quick  eye  saw  some 
of  this,  and  she  omitted  the  last  verse. 

The  song  was  suddenly  over,  and  everybody  was 
stamping  and  yelling. 

When  the  performers  met  behind  the  stage, 
Minnie  said  low  to  Giles — 

'  You've  been  drinking  again !  I  shall  not  sing 
that  duet  with  you  now ;  and  I  should  strongly 
advise  you  to  go  home." 

Giles  looked  foolish,  and  said  nothing. 

"Oh,  Minnie!"  said  Miss  Mary,  "why  did  you 
leave  out  the  last  verse  ? " 


76  VELVETEENS. 

"Well,  suppose  they  had  encored  us,  it  would 
have  come  in  handy." 

"  We  are  not  likely  to  get  encored,"  said  Angus, 
"  if  one  of  the  parts  is  grinning  at  the  girls  t'other 
end  of  the  room  half  the  time." 

"  Who  was  grinning  at  girls  ? "  said  Giles,  angrily. 

"  Hush,  hush !   silence  behind  the  stage  !  " 

The  second  thing  was  on.  Harry  Bent  was  re- 
citing a  piece. 

He  began  in  rather  squeaky  tones,  but  with 
plenty  of  dramatic  power ;  but  unfortunately  the 
quarrel  behind  the  stage  had  not  finished,  so  that 
the  recitation  came  to  the  listeners  in  the  hall, 
especially  to  those  at  the  back,  in  this  form — 

"  Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft,  at  evening's  close, 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose.'* 

"  Who  was  grinning  at  girls  ? " 
"  You  were  ;  it  was  monstrous." 

*  *  There  as  I  passed  with  careless  step  and  slow, 
The  mingled  notes " 

"  It's  no  business  of  yours,  Master  Jackanapes, 
Who  are  you,  I'd  like  to  know  ? " 

"  The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled " 

"  Well,  drop  it  now ;  or  they'll  hear  us  in  the 
hall." 

"  And  the  loud  laugh  that  spake  the  vacant  mind; 
These  all  in  sweet  confusion " 

"  Who  are  you  ?  I  suppose  I  may  smile  without 
getting  a  horder  from  the  nearest  magistrate ! 
And  as  to  grinning  at  girls,  there  isn't  a  blooming 


A   PENNY   READING.  77 

one  I'd  care  to  touch  with  the  end  of  a  boat-hook. 
I  loathe  the  whole  lot." 

"  All  but  yon  widowed  solitary  thing, 
That  feebly  bends  beside  the  plashy  spring. " 

But  at  this  point  the  whole  assembly  burst  out 
into  a  guffaw,  to  Harry  Bent's  great  surprise  ;  for 
he  had  been  so  absorbed,  entranced,  and  enthralled 
by  Goldsmith's  poetry,  that  he  had  taken  no  heed 
of  the  interruptions.  He  now,  in  his  rage,  thinking 
they  were  laughing  at  him,  cried  out — 

"It  comes  from  Goldsmith's  'Deserted  Village/ 
ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  on,"  whispered  the  Vicar,  half  rising 
from  his  seat;  "we  were  laughing  at  something 
behind  the  stage." 

"  Go  on,"  shouted  a  reckless  ribald  at  the  back, 
"be'st  thou  waiting  for  thy  good  woman?" 

tf  She,  wretched  matron,  forced  in  age  for  bread 
To  strip  the  brook  with  mantling  cresses  spread." 

Another  roar  of  laughter  so  incensed  the  cobbler 
that  he  flung  the  book  on  the  ground  with  an  angry 
stamp,  and  a  withering  look  of  scorn. 

The  third  item  on  the  programme  was  the  toy 
symphony. 

Great  was  the  excitement  when  the  Vicar  was 
seen  giving  his  arm  to  Miss  Gladys,  and  when  Lord 
Haverden  and  Captain  Hervey  also  went  on  the 
stage. 

"  Ain't  she  beautiful  to  look  at  ?  Well,  I  never 
did !  if  she  isn't  undressing !  Her  arms  is  bare  to 
the  shoulder ! " 

"You  silly — that's  evening  dress,  that  is." 

"  Only  look  at  her  jules,  mate — di'monds  in  her 
hair  and  bracelets  and  a  necklace  of  pebbles — 
they  must  have  taken  some  finding!  And  what 


78  VELVETEENS. 

are  they  going  to  do  ?  Play  summut  ?  A  toy  sim- 
penny  they  calls  it  ?  Oh,  I  see !  the  Cappen's  got 
a  penny  whistle,  and  two  bits  of  old  iron  ;  his  lord- 
ship's going  to  tap  three  tumblers  with  an  egg- 
spoon,  and  Miss  Gladys  has  a  penny  trumpet  and  a 
drum.'1 

This,  however,  in  spite  of  critical  forecasts,  was 
the  gem  of  the  evening,  and  was  encored  twice. 

The  last  thing  was  a  reading  by  the  Vicar, 
which  gave  the  old  cronies  the  luxury  of  a  good, 
if  furtive,  weep.  But  already  the  Squire's  footman 
stood  ready  at  the  door.  When  the  swells  had 
gone,  Minnie  turned  to  Jean,  and  said— 

"Do  you  think  your  brother  would  kindly  walk 
home  with  me  ?  I  don't  like  to  ask  him,  as  he 
always  seems  to  avoid  me  now  somehow.  You 
have  Willie  to  keep  you  company,  you  know." 

"  But  did  not  Giles  Fletcher  bring  you  here  ? " 

"I  would  rather  not  walk  back  with  him, 
Jean,  please." 

This  was  how  it  was  that  Angus  found  him- 
self walking  by  the  side  of  Minnie  Fletcher  over 
-  the  crisp  snow  on  this  cold  winter's  night, 


CHAPTER   XL 


WALKING   BY    MOONLIGHT. 

NGUS  and  Minnie  walked  for  some  time 
in  silence.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
young  lady's  advice,  "Treat  her  with 
some  neglect/'  and  he  had  a  feeling  that 
he  would  not  take  an  advantage  over  his 
rival,  though  they  do  say  that  "  all  is  fair,  in  love  and 
war."  At  last,  after  Minnie  had  nearly  slipped  to 
the  ground  on  the  ice,  he  offered  his  arm,  and  she 
accepted  it. 

"  Well,  we  don't  seem  very  full  of  talk,  do  we  ? " 
she  said  with  a  laugh. 

"It  is  rather  difficult  for  me,  you  see.  I  don't 
know  how  you  feel  with  regard  to  me  and  Giles 
Fletcher." 

"  Oh !  I  did  not  mean  that  sort  of  talk,  Angus, 
I  should  not  have  been  so  bold  as  that.  I  meant, 
you  seem  to  be  angry  with  me ;  you  don't  speak 
pleasant  to  me,  as  you  used  to  do." 

"It's  your  fault,  then,"  said  Angus,  bluntly.  "I 
used  to  think  you  cared  a  bit  for  me,  now  I  find 
you  like  Giles  better." 


So  VELVETEENS. 

"  Giles  is  my  cousin,  and  you  arc — well,  the  Forbes 
are  strangers  in  these  parts." 

"  The  same  old  story !  One  would  think  you 
Fletchers  were  a  colony  of  rooks,  by  the  way  you 
talk  and  act." 

"  I  don't  understand  that.  How  are  we  like 
rooks?" 

"Have  you  not  seen  in  the  tall  trees  by  the 
church  how  the  rooks  build  their  nests  together  ? 
Well,  if  one  of  them  goes  and  mates  with  a  bird 
from  another  rookery,  and  tries  to  build  her  a 
nest  among  his  own  people,  the  other  rooks  drive 
them  off  with  beak  and  claw,  sometimes  tearing 
down  the  half-made  nest." 

"  I  have  never  noticed  that,  Angus.  Then  the  poor 
lovers  may  not  mate  at  all,  or  what  do  they  do  ? " 

"Sometimes,  Minnie,  the  old  rooks  will  let  the 
young  couple  build  a  nest  in  a  tree  a  hundred  yards 
off;  and  that,  in  time,  becomes  a  new  colony — a 
fresh  rookery." 

Minnie  heard  the  last  words  in  silence  ;  if  the 
Fletchers  objected  to  her  marrying  Angus,  why 
should  she  not  do  as  the  young,  romantic  rooks 
do,  and  take  up  a  nest  at  a  distance  ? 

"Well,  it's  you  that  won't  talk  now,"  said 
Angus. 

"  I  was  busy,  thinking  about  the  rooks :  they  be 
wise  creatures." 

"Aye,  faith,  we  may  learn  many  a  lesson  from 
bird  and  beast.  You  don't  know  till  you  come 
to  live  among  them." 

"We  talk  of  making  a  beast  of  one's  self, 
Angus,  but  did  you  ever  see  a  beast  the  worse  for 
liquor?" 

"Not  unless  a  man  had  made  it  so.  I  guess 
what  you  are  thinking  on  now.  What  made  Giles 
come  in  like  that  ? " 


WALKING  BY  MOONLIGHT.  81 

"  I  can't  think.  Suppose  he  felt  nervous  singing 
before  ladies,  and  took  something  to  give  him 
Dutch  courage." 

"  He  must  behave  himself  though  when  he  speaks 
to  me,  or  I  shall  let  him  know  the  weight  of  my 
fist.  Wilt  tell  him  so  ? " 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  any  quarrelling  between  you. 
If  he  comes  to  me,  I  shall  tell  him  he  has  dis- 
graced himself  and  me  too." 

"  How  many  times  are  you  going  to  let  him  dis- 
grace you,  Minnie?" 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  ask  me  such  a 
question." 

"  I'm  sorry  to  have  to.  You  keep  us  both  on 
dangling  about  like  ground  bait.  I  think  it's 
time  now  you  made  up  your  mind." 

"  Perhaps  I  have — and  perhaps  I  haven't ;  any- 
ways I  am  not  going  to  be  hurried  into  any- 
thing." 

"Well,  you  must  forgive  my  plain  speaking.     I'm 
just   a   Scotchman,   and  only  know  how  to  speak 
the    truth    to    a    body    without    any    circum— 
You  know  what  I  mean,  Minnie." 

"No,  I  don't.  I  suppose  you  want  to  give  me 
some  good  advice  ? " 

"  I  never  give  advice  to  a  young  woman  ;  it  isn't 
wise  or  decent.  What  I  wanted  to  say  was  that 
we  Scotch  folk  have  our  family  pride,  and — and— 
Well,  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is  that  if  you're 
going  on  much  longer  with  that  good-for-nothing 
Giles  Fletcher,  Jean  and  I  can't  be  on  good  terms 
with  you  as  we  were." 

This  was  indeed  a  crushing  blow  to  Minnie ; 
she  was  struck  dumb  by  the  shock  of  it.  And 
what  made  it  all  the  worse,  she  felt  that  she 
had  deserved  it. 

Giles's  conduct  at  the  club  had  indeed  annoyed 

G 


82  VELVETEENS. 

her  so  much  that  she  had  invited  Angus  to  see  her 
home  for  the  purpose  of  showing  her  resentment. 
She  had  thought  herself  rather  kind  and  con- 
descending to  ask  Angus,  but  here  he  was  taking 
her  to  task  like  a  school-girl,  and  almost  throwing 
her  off  in  his  pride.  She  hardly  knew  how  to  take 
it ;  but  she  withdrew  her  arm  from  his,  and  walked 
on  in  silence  till  they  turned  a  bend  of  the  road, 
and  the  glimmer  of  the  sea  in  the  pale  moonlight 
burst  upon  them. 

"I  think  you  are  very  unkind  to  me  to-night, 
Angus  Forbes." 

"  I  hope  not.  I  was  thinking  perhaps  that  you 
only  wanted  my  company  just  to  tease  Giles  a  bit ; 
and  if  that  be  so,  as  I  said  before,  it  goes  against 
my  northern  feeling  of  self-respect.  I  don't  think 
much  of  that  -  cousin  of  yours,  Minnie  Fletcher. 
And  it  comes  to  this — if  you  think  he's  good  enough 
for  you,  then  I  must  keep  right  away  from  you, 
though  it  hurts  me  to  do  it." 

"I  think  I  understand  you  now,  Angus.  You 
fancy,  doubtless,  that  I  am  a  light-minded,  fickle 
thing,  that  can't  make  up  my  mind  ;  but  you  forget 
about  those  crows  and  their  pecking  the  stranger. 
Perhaps  I  get  pecked  for  liking  a  stranger.  I 
think  we  oughtn't  to  judge  one  another  too  harsh ; 
we  don't  know  always  what  trials  folk  may  have  to 
bear  at  home." 

"Is  it  so,  indeed,  Minnie?"  said  Angus,  drawing 
her  arm  again  into  his,  and  pressing  the  hand  he 
had  seemed  to  scorn. 

"  Now,  good  night.  Here's  John  standing  at  the 
door,  waiting  for  me,  and  you  had  better  go  home,  for 
it's  late.  Good  night,  and  thank  you  for  your  com- 
pany and — a  deal  o'  good  advice,"  she  added,  with 
a  little  short  laugh  that  rang  in  his  ears  a  long 
time, 


WALKING  BY  MOONLIGHT.  83 

"Thou  art  late,  lass,"  said  John,  as  she  clapped 
the  gate  to.  "  Here's  Giles  here,  complaining  you 
were  rude  to  him/' 

"  Then  don't  believe  a  word  he  says  ;  he  has  been 
drinking." 

Giles  heard  these  words,  and  stood  scowling  with 
his  back  to  the  fire,  looking  like  a  beautiful  angel 
cast  out  of  Paradise. 

Minnie,  as  she  entered,  was  struck  by  the  beauty 
of  his  face ;  for  the  swift  walk  through  the  frosty 
air  had  coloured  his  cheeks  with  the  most  delicate 
tints:  but  anger  burnt  in  his  eyes  and  contracted 
his  brow. 

"Whoever  says  I  have  been  drinking  is  a 

"A  what,  Giles  Fletcher  ?  Let's  hear,  please  ;  for 
I  say  so." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  say  so,  if  course  it  must  be  so," 
said  Giles,  bitterly. 

"  Were  you  at  the  concert,  John  ? "  asked 
Minnie. 

"  No  ;  I  have  been  doing  the  chapel  accounts  with 
the  deacons." 

"It's  a  pity  you  weren't  there  to  see  the  goings 
on.  Giles  couldn't  sing  his  part  for  foolish  giggling. 
I  never  was  so  mortified  in  my  life.  It's  time  I 
told  him  to  go  his  own  way." 

"  I  was  laughing  at  some  one  t'other  end  of  the 
hall." 

"Giles  seems  sober  enough  now,  Minnie  ;  I  think 
you  are  rather  hard  on  him.  Sometimes  one  does  get 
a  spell  of  laughing  at  inconvenient  moments.  I  did 
myself,  a  few  Sundays  back.  I  was  holding  the  plate 
at  the  chapel  door,  and  a  great,  beastly  dog  came 
and  sat  up  in  front  of  me,  as  if  he  was  begging  for 
pennies ;  and  I  tried  all  I  could  to  keep  it  in,  but, 
though  I  managed  my  face  all  right,  the  laugh  was 
druv'  down  into  my  body  like,  and  it  shook  me  so 


84  VELVETEENS. 

that  all  the  little  three-penny  bits  jumped  up  as  if 
they  was  a  laughing  too." 

John's  genial  narration  dispelled  somewhat  the 
gloom  which  had  been  too  conspicuous  before. 

Minnie  took  off  her  hat,  and  sat  down. 

"All  I  can  say  is,  if  I  have  mortified  Minnie, 
I'm  truly  sorry.  Jim  at  the  Three  Jolly-boats  can 
tell  you  what  I  had — a  mere  nothing.  Perhaps  the 
frost  drove  it  into  my  head,  and  made  me  mirthful- 
inclined.  But,  dear  me !  is  a  chap  to  be  scolded  and 
sent  off  for  such  trifles  as  that  ?  I  hope  you  found 
Mr.  Forbes  quite  sober,  and  a  nice,  steady  com- 
panion ? " 

"  Now,  Giles,"  said  John,  "  don't  you  go  a  sneering 
at  Angus  Forbes.  I've  a  very  high  opinion  of  him 
and  his  sister." 

"I  don't  doubt  he  means  well,  and  takes  good 
care  of  his  siller ;  all  they  Scotch  do  that  sharp 
enough.  But  he  needn't  be  so  proud,  setting  hisself 
up  above  us  fisher-folk." 

"  Is  he  proud  ?  Not  more  so  than  an  honest  man 
may  be,"  said  John. 

"They  were  talking  in  the  town  the  other  day 
that  he  had  come  into  the  Dolphin  Inn,  and  said  it 
was  the  only  place  where  a  man  could  get  a  glass 
of  beer  without  being  stared  at  by  those  beggarly 
fishermen — beggarly  fishermen,  that  was  it." 

"  Did  he  call  us  beggarly  fishermen  ? "  said  John, 
bending  forward  with  a  frown. 

"Who  told  you  that  tale,  Giles?"  asked 
Minnie. 

"  It's  all  over  the  town  now ;  everybody's  talking 
about  it.  They  say  his  father  would  never  have 
used  such  an  expression." 

"Well,  if  he  said  it,  I  think  very  badly  of  him. 
But  we  should  not  judge  one  another  rashly  j 
perhaps  it's  a  lie,"  said  Minnie. 


WALKING  BY   MOONLIGHT.  85 

"  Beggarly  fishermen ! "  repeated  John  Fletcher 
to  himself.  "  If  that  isn't  a  good  tin !  Why,  all 
this  Nether  Beckthorp  is  freehold  property,  and 
belongs  to  us  beggarly  fishermen!  And  if  the 
Squire  was  to  die  and  Mister  Aubrey  was  to  come 
and  turn  out  young  Forbes,  who  would  be  the 
beggar  then,  I'd  like  to  know  !  Beggarly  fishermen 
indeed ! " 

"Well,  good  night,  neighbours.  I  am  keeping 
you  up.'' 

"I  say,  Minnie,"  said  John,  after  Giles  had  left; 
"that  young  fellow's  mother  has  been  speaking 
to  me  about  the  wedding." 

"  What  wedding  ?  You  don't  mean  she  took  it  for 
granted  I  was  a-going  to  marry  Giles  ? " 

"  You  needn't  be  so  mettlesome  about  it,  lass.  She 
axed  me  if  it  was  likely  you  was  going  to  marry 
her  Giles,  that  was  all." 

"  Oh,  very  well ;  what  did  you  say  ? " 

"I  said  I  didn't  know,  for  you  was  like  an  un- 
broken filly,  and  Giles  must  tame  you  hisself." 

"  It's  Giles  that  wants  the  taming ;  if  he  had 
been  a  good  steady  lad,  I  would  have  been  glad  to 
pleasure  you  all  by  marrying  him.  But  I  must  think 
of  myself  a  bit.  What  should  I  be  like  if  Giles 
took  to  drinking  and  poaching  ? " 

"  Giles  is  young,  and  will  sober  down  after  a  bit. 
You  see,  Minnie,  if  you  marry  him,  we  keep  the 
money  in  the  family.  You've  got  a  matter  of  eighty 
pounds  laid  up,  and  that  will  just  pay  off  the 
mortgage  on  Giles's  house ;  there's  only  him  and 
his  mother  left,  and  if  you  marry  him,  the  debt  is 
wiped  off  and  the  house  is  yours,  free  of  any  charge 
on  it.  That's  what  I  look  at." 

"  It's  all  well  enough  looking  at  the  money  side 
of  it ;  but  the  devil  does  that,  John.  I'd  rather 
do  what  is  right.  There's  no  doubt  that  Angus 


86  VELVETEENS. 

Forbes  is  the  most  God-fearing  and  honest  of  the 
two.  He  may  not  be  so  independent  as  Giles, 
but  he  has  a  strong  arm  and  a  willing  mind,  and, 
as  you  keep  on  saying,  '  God  helps  them  as  helps 
themselves." 

"Ah,  well!  it's  no  use  talking  to  thee,  lass;  thou 
must  go  thine  own  froward  way :  so  good  night  to 
thee." 

So  Minnie  was  more  perplexed  than  ever.  She 
was  vexed  with  both  the  young  men,  and  sought 
in  vain  for  guidance  in  her  difficulty.  Aunt  Bessie 
heard  her  tossing  on  her  pillow,  and  cried,  as  if  she 
were  stilling  an  infant,  "  Hush,  child  !  go  to  sleep — 
the  angels  are  watching  over  us — there's  nought 
to  fear." 


CHAPTER    XII. 


A    SUNDAY   WALK. 

;  N  the  next  Sunday  afternoon  Aunt 
Bessie  and  Minnie  were  walking  inland 
to  get  out  of  the  cutting  wind  which 
blew  over  the  sea.  They  had  chosen  a 
deep  lane,  sheltered  by  high  banks  and 
dark  rustling  woods.  The  wild,  howling  north 
wind  was  hushed  about  their  ears,  and  only  made 
itself  audible  in  the  swaying  firs  far  above  them. 
Half  a  mile  further,  an  upland  of  brown  heather 
dressed  in  festoons  of  snow  stretched  to  their  left, 
and  here  a  cart-track  frozen  to  unwonted  cleanliness 
tempted  them  to  leave  the  road  and  strike  off 
towards  the  woods.  ' 

"Everything  seems  so  tame  to-day,"  said  Aunt 
Bessie.     "Look  yonder!   the   little   rabbits   sit   on 
their  hind   legs   and  almost  wait  for  us  to  touch 
them ;  the  red-breasts  and  the  starlings  look  wistfully 
at  us.    They  must  be  very  hungry,  poor  things." 
Minnie  stopped  and  looked  round. 
"It's  very  pretty  here   in   the  winter-time,  with 
the    snow    amongst    the    gorse    and   the   heather; 
'tis  a  pity  rich  folk  can't  come  here  at  Christmas, 
and  see  how  grand  it  all  looks." 


88  VELVETEENS. 

"  Ah !  they  like  to  be  warm  in  their  own  houses, 
Minnie.  I  often  wonder  where  my  husband  is  living 
in  the  cold  season.  No  doubt  he's  gone  to  India 
or  somewhere,  where  there  is  no  post-office  ;  but  I 
have  dreamt  lately  that  he  was  coming  soon,  and 
I  must  get  tea  ready,  as  he  said." 

"  Lor',  Aunt  Bessie,  I  wonder  you  aren't  tired  of 
that  now.  Don't  you  see  everybody  but  you  knows 
he's  drowned  at  sea  ? " 

"  It's  only  me  that  knows  he  isn't  drowned.  Do 
you  think  the  good  Lord  would  send  me  such  dreams, 
showing  me  him  alive  night  after  night,  if  he  wasn't 
alive  ?  Do  you  want  to  make  the  Lord  out  a  liar  ? 
I'll  never  believe  it,  Minnie.  In  the  last  dream,  I  saw 
him  sitting  at  our  table  yonder,  really  sipping  the 
tea  I  have  made  so  often,  and  all  for  naught.  And 
I  read  on  the  packet — 'twas  a  half-pound  packet — 
'  Ceylon  tea/  So  I  want  you  to  get  me  some  good 
Ceylon  tea :  never  mind  the  price — I  can  well 
afford  it,  you  know,  from  the  allowance  his  brother 
makes  me  out  of  the  farm.  Ceylon  tea,  it  must 
be ;  if  there  isn't  any  to  be  got  in  the  village,  send 
to  Norwich  for  it.  How  should  I  feel  if  he  came 
back  and  I  had  no  Ceylon  tea  ? " 

The  wild,  dark  eyes  glistened  and  looked  into 
vacancy,  seeing  visions  that  saner  eyes  might  not 
behold. 

While  Minnie  and  Aunt  Bessie  were  taking  their 
quiet  Sabbath  stroll  over  the  heathery  uplands, 
Master  Giles  Fletcher,  with  two  of  his  chums,  was 
engaged  not  very  far  off  in  shooting  the  Squire's 
hares  and  rabbits — on  principle,  mind  ! 

Giles  was  none  of  your  common  poachers,  wrho 
sold  his  game  to  the  middleman,  who  conveyed  it 
to  the  nearest  market.  Giles  when  he  had  made 
his  little  bag  of  partridges,  hares,  or  wood-pigeon, 
used  to  call  his  neighbours  and  friends  together 


A  SUNDAY   WALK.  89 

and  give  them  a  good  spread,  drinking  the  Squire's 
health  in  sound  ale  from  the  Three  Jolly-boats. 
Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of  this  that  Angus 
Forbes  could  never  get  any  one  to  give  evidence 
against  Giles.  All  he  could  elicit  from  the  villagers 
was  a  sly,  slow  smile,  and  a  declaration  that  Giles 
Fletcher  was  "a  good-hearted  un,"  and  if  half 
the  parish  behaved  as  handsome  as  he  did,  Beck- 
thorp  would  be  a  better  place  to  live  in  than  it 
was. 

Now,  as  Giles  and  his  two  comrades  cracked  away 
merrily  right  and  left  in  the  glades  of  the  young 
larch  wood,  it  chanced  that  Angus  and  his  little 
brother  were  walking  through  the  big  fir-wood  on 
the  opposite  hill.  They  had  stopped  in  the  bracken, 
and  Angus,  pointing  to  a  certain  spot  at  his  feet, 
was  saying,  "  Here  it  was,  Willie,  that  poor  father 
lay/'  and  the  two  sons  were  standing  in  reverent, 
silent  awe,  when  crack !  crack !  came  the  sounds  of 
two  gun-shots,  seeming  to  them  close  at  hand. 
The  small  boy,  scared  at  the  sounds,  intruding  as 
they  did  upon  his  reverie  and  vision  of  a  murdered 
man,  tightly  clutched  his  brother's  arm. 

"  There !    what's  that  ? " 

"Only  some  chaps  poaching  yonder,  Willie.  I 
will  run  down  and  see  if  I  can  nab  them.  You 
cut  across  lower  down,  and  mark  who  they  are,  if 
you  catch  sight  of  them." 

So  the  two  brothers  separated,  Angus  taking  to 
the  right,  that  he  might  be  on  the  upper  ground, 
Willie  running  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth  along  the 
line  taken  by  Minnie  Fletcher. 

But  Giles  was  too  good  a  commander  to  be 
caught  napping — he  had  a  frigate  out  to  spy  and 
give  warning,  in  the  shape  of  Ned  Cooper ;  and  this 
gentleman,  on  seeing  Angus  emerge  from  the  wood 
with  his  stout  ash  stick,  speedily  ran  into  the  larches 


90  ,  VELVETEENS. 

and  signalled  danger.  Immediately  guns  were 
stowed  away  under  coats,  and  the  three  made  off 
in  Willie's  direction.  However,  no  sooner  did  they 
reach  the  outskirts  of  the  wood  than  they  spied 
Willie  trotting  along  the  cart-track. 

Then  they  stopped  and  whispered  together ;  in  a 
moment  Giles  had  given  his  gun  to  one  of  his  com- 
panions, saying — 

"  I  will  go  and  hold  the  boy  in  talk ;  you  make 
for  the  wood-stack  and  hide  the  guns.  Go  down 
yonder,  behind  the  boy,  get  the  other  side  of  the 
hedge — it's  pretty  thick,  and  there's  .a  high  bank, 
and  I'll  keep  him  looking  out  t'other  way." 

With  a  nod  they  obeyed,  and  Giles  crept  along 
almost  on  all  fours,  covering  himself  by  a  hillock 
until  he  was  within  speaking  distance  of  Willie, 
but  behind  him.  He  waited  till  his  comrades  on 
the  lower  ground  had  crossed  the  cart-track,  then 
called  out — 

"  Willie  Forbes,  is  that  you  ? " 

Willie  turned  round  and  saw  Giles  walking 
demurely  along  the  road — a  pleasant,  profitable, 
Sabbath  walk,  as  it  seemed. 

"How  do  you  do,  boy?  How  are  they  all  at 
home?" 

"Very  well,  thank  you,"  said  Willie,  timidly;  "  and 
I  hope  you  keep  pretty  well." 

"  Capital,  lad,  capital !  But  what's  your  brother 
doing,  out  shooting  on  a  Sunday.  Wasn't  that 
Angus  I  saw  ?  And  I  heard  a  gun,  too." 

"  Oh,  we're  out  after  poachers !  It  was  the 
poacher's  gun  you  must  have  heard,  for  Angus 
hasn't  brought  his  out  with  him." 

"  Poachers,  eh  ?  then  let  us  keep  our  eye  on  the 
wood  yonder ;  for  if  they  break  cover,  they're  sure 
to  try  for  this  corner  near  the  town-end.  Where's 
Angus  off  to  after  them  ? " 


A  SUNDAY  WALK.  91 

"He  said  he  would  come  down  on  them  from 
the  top,  and  I  was  to  mark  who  came  out." 

"  That's  right,  lad ;  let  me  see !  Isn't  that  my 
two  girls  up  yonder  on  the  hill  ?  I  must  catch  them 
up,  and  you  better  go  and  meet  your  brother,  and 
you  can  tell  him  nobody  has  come  out  this  side  of 
the  wood,  so  he  had  better  try  upwards.  You  might 
say  you  saw  me  walking  with  two  girls — there  they 
be  yonder,  waiting  for  me, — and  I  can  swear  nobody 
ran  past  this  way.  Off  with  you !  that'll  help  him 
amazing." 

Thus  Willie  went  to  the  larch  plantation  to  rejoin 
his  brother,  while  Giles  Fletcher  ran  up  the  hill  after 
two  figures  which  he  had  seen  in  the  distance,  but 
whom  he  did  not  recognize  until  he  had  nearly 
reached  them.  ' 

"Well,  I  am  in  luck,"  he  said  to  himself;  "if  it 
isn't  Aunt  Bessie  and  Minnie!  I  shall  look  as 
respectable  as  possible  if  Forbes  comes  this  way. 
Hi !  Minnie,  hold  on  a  bit !  " 

They  turned  round  on  hearing  Giles  shout.  He 
came  up  panting. 

"  You  take  a  lot  of  catching.  May  I  walk  a  bit 
of  the  way  with  you  ? " 

"  Of  course  you  may,  Giles,"  said  Minnie. 

"  I  thought  it  was  better  spending  the  afternoon 
quietly  with  you  than  fooling  about  with  those  chaps 
down  yonder,  so  when  I  heard  you  had  come  up  this 
way  I  set  off  after  you." 

Minnie  rewarded  him  with  one  of  her  sweetest 
smiles ;  if  she  could  but  influence  him  to  forsake 
his  old  companions,  she  felt  she  could  willingly  marry 
him  yet.  Alas  !  she  little  knew  that  he  had  but  now 
greeted  her  with  a  lie  in  his  mouth. 

"You're  looking  your  best  to-day,  Minnie,"  he 
whispered,  as  Aunt  Bessie  lingered  behind  to  prick 
her  fingers  in  the  gorse.  "  Oh,  why  won't  you  say 


92  VELVETEENS. 

you'll  marry  me,  dearest  ?  You  know  I've  got 
mother's  house  to  bring  you  to :  it  will  be  mine  when 
she  dies — a  good,  flint-walled  house  with  two  parlours 
and  plenty  of  bedrooms.  We  could  make  a  lot  of 
money  in  the  summer  by  letting  to  the  visitors. 
You  know  all  that,  my  sweet  darling,  but  I  want 
you  to  feel,  and  be  sure,  that  if  you  marry  me  you 
will  want  for  nothing — not  even  a  husband  who  will 
love  you  and  do  all  he  can  to  make  you  ever  happy." 

This  was  rather  a  long  effort  for  Giles,  who  had 
scarcely  got  his  breath  yet,  after  a  hard  run  up  hill, 
and  it  made  him  sob  a  little  in  breathing,  so  that 
Minnie  was  deeply  moved,  for  she  put  it  down  to 
his  intense  feeling.  Giles  gazed  into  her  face  and 
clasped  her  hand.  Minnie's  eyes  were  clouded  with 
tears,  her  mouth  drooped  with  the  sad,  regretful 
longing  that  was  coming  over  her.  Oh,  if  Giles 
were  a  steadier  lad !  how  gladly  would  she  have 
returned  the  pressure  of  his  hand ;  but  as  yet  she 
was  afraid  to  trust  him.  He  had  disappointed  her 
so  often.  He  had  so  often  made  promise  of  amend- 
ment, and  failed. 

"  Minnie,  you  don't  speak  ;  you  don't  look  at  me, 
darling.  Let  me  see  your  sweet  eyes  look  into  mine. 
Why,  you're  in  tears !  I  know  what  you're  think- 
ing about ;  you're  thinking  that  if  you  marry  me  I 
shall  get  tired  of  you,  and  return  to  my  old  mates, 
and  we  shall  go  from  bad  to  worse.  Now,  isn't  it 
so,  Minnie?" 

She  turned  upon  him  her  beautiful  black  eyes, 
and  they  acted  like  magic  upon  his  conscience.  It 
came  across  him  all  in  a  moment  what  a  blackguard 
he  was,  and  how  utterly  unworthy  of  this  charming 
girl ;  the  tears  actually  welled  into  his  eyes  as  he 
said,  in  quite  a  different  tone  from  the  self-satisfied 
one  he  had  been  employing,  nay  in  low,  impassioned 
utterance — 


A  SUNDAY  WALK.  93 

"Oh,  my  life,  my  only  anchor  to  hold  me  to 
what  is  good  !  if  you  knew  how  I  longed  for  you,  you 
would  relent  and  forgive  me  my  past  failings.  I 
think  you  would,  Minnie,  because  you  are  a  good 
girl,  you  do  what  is  right  and  love  God  ;  and  if  you 
could  see  how  your  marrying  me  would  save  me 
from  going  wrong,  you  would  say,  *  Giles  Fletcher, 
I  am  willing  to  be  your  wedded  wife — for  better 
or  for  worse ' ' 

"Aye,  for  worse,  I'll  uphold  it,"  said  Aunt  Bessie, 
coming  up  at  that  inopportune  moment  and  spoiling 
their  little  love-making,  "for  worse,  or  I  know 
nothing  of  men." 

"Well,  Aunt  Bessie,  you  haven't  had  much  ex- 
perience yet,"  said  Minnie,  rather  cruelly. 

"  It  is  true — too  true.  All  I  can  say  is  they  keep 
you  a  mortal  long  while  waiting — waiting.  But 
there !  I  mustn't  think  of  myself  always.  Giles 
Fletcher,  if  ever  there  was  a  rogue,  you're  one ! " 

"  Lor,'  Aunt  Bessie,  whatever  has  come  to  you  ?  " 
cried  Minnie. 

"Look  yonder — at  that  stack  o'  faggots,"  said 
Aunt  Bessie. 

Minnie  looked  where  her  friend  was  pointing, 
and  saw  two  men  stooping  down  and  presently 
running  off. 

"Well,  now,"  said  Minnie,  "I  don't  see  aught 
to  be  scared  of." 

"  They  had  guns  when  they  came  over  the  hedge, 
now  they've  none,"  said  Aunt  Bessie ;  "  'cause 
they've  bien  and  hid  them." 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  me,  I'd  like  to 
know  ? "  cried  Giles. 

Aunt  Bessie  met  his  challenge  with  a  bold  stare. 

"  Do  two  men  need  three  guns  ? "  she  asked. 

Giles  winced,  but  promptly  replied,  "No,  but 
three  men  do,  and  if  you  had  been  as  sharp  as  you 


04  VELVETEENS. 

think,  you'd  ha'  seen  the  third  man  keeping  watch 
by  the  hedge." 

"Oh,  Giles,  do  you  know  them?"  Minnie  asked 
tremulously. 

"  I  think  I  know  who  they  are,  but  I  didn't  want 
to  frighten  you ;  and  as  to  Aunt  Bessie,  I'll  thank 
her  to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  her  head  when  she 
speaks  of  me." 

"Yes,  Aunt  Bessie,  you  did  speak  very  rude  to 
Giles." 

"  Giles  is  a  deal  too  clever  for  you,  Minnie ;  he 
gammons  you  finely.  But  here  comes  Mr.  Forbes, 
I  declare." 

Forbes  was  striding  down  over  the  heather,  and, 
saluting  Minnie  with  a  touch  of  his  Scotch  cap,  he 
said — 

"  Good  afternoon,  ladies ;  have  you  seen  any 
young  fellows  running  off  this  way  ? " 

The  three  exclaimed  together  that  they  had. 
Giles  adding  in  a  low  tone — 

"  Mind  you  don't*tell  him  where  the  poor  fellows 
have  hid  their  guns,  or  they  will  get  into  a  row." 

"  Giles  Fletcher,  do  you  know  them  ? "  asked 
Forbes. 

"  Maybe  I  do ;  but  it  wouldn't  be  neighbourly 
to  split  on  'em,  would  it  ?  You're  paid  so  much 
a  week  to  catch  them  ;  they're  not  two  fields  off, 
why  don't  you  run,  lad  ? " 

Forbes  cast  an  angry  glance  at  Giles,  and  started 
in  pursuit. 

Aunt  Bessie,  being  in  a  huff,  walked  apart,  while 
Giles  made  excellent  use  of  his  opportunities. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 


THE  SEARCH. 

HAT  afternoon  Minnie  sat  silent  at  tea, 
while  Aunt  Bessie  talked  with  John 
about  the  poachers.  Both  John  and 
Aunt  Bessie  thought  it  very  likely  that 
Giles  had  been  shooting  too  ;  for  it  was 
well-known  that  he  had  often  employed  Sunday 
afternoon  in  this  fashion.  Minnie  made  no  defence, 
but  sat  pondering  with  her  chin  resting  on  her 
hand.  After  tea  she  rose  and  put  on  her  bonnet 
and  shawl,  took  down  the  lanthorn  from  the  top 
drawer  of  the  cupboard,  and  was  going  out,  when 
John  cried— 

"  Halloa !  lass,  where  be'st  tha'  going  this  time 
o'  day?" 

"  Not  far,  John  ;  but  it  gets  so  dark  these  winter 
nights." 

"She's  after  something,"  said  John,  as  the  door 
shut  behind  her  ;  "  and  she  must  be  strange  and  soft 
to  want  a  lanthorn,  for  the  moon  will  be  up  in  half 
an  hour." 

"  It's  my  belief  she's  distraught  with  love,  John. 
She  hardly  ever  answers  a  plain  question  now,  like 
a  sensible  body,  but  keeps  mum  as  a  mouse  in  a 


96  VELVETEENS. 

trap,  and  when  you've  forgotten  all  about  the  ques- 
tion, pat  comes  th'  answer,  fit  to  make  you  drop 
with  amazement." 

"She's  got  hold  o'  summut  now  in  that  head 
of  hers,  you  may  depend  on't :  she  can't  abear  to 
hear  Giles  called  poacher,  and  she's  gone  to  prove 
him  innocent." 

"Ay,  and  she'll  want  more  than  one  lanthorn  to 
find  his  honesty.  I  doubt  if  the  'lectric  light  could 
ravel  out  a  bit  of  truthful  nature  in  that  young  man." 

"  Come,  come,  Bessie !  that's  saying  a  deal  more 
than  is  warranted.  The  chap  likes  a  bit  o'  shooting : 
so  does  the  Squire's  son ;  so  does  every  English 
lad.  I  reckon  it's  bred  in  us  ever  sin'  Robin  Hood's 
days,  and  afore  that  too.  Well,  he  ain't  got  no  land 
to  speak  on,  no  woods,  no  plantations,  no  turnips, 
no  gorse,  no  heather,  and  the  Squire — he  doesn't 
give  our  fellows  invitation  to  shoot  over  his  pre- 
serves ;  well,  it  follows,  plain  enough,  that  either 
Giles  and  the  likes  of  him  must  give  up  shooting 
or  take  it  as  they  can  get  it  on  the  sly." 

"  I  do  wonder  at  you,  John,  defending  poaching." 

"I  don't — I  don't,  mind  you!  I  think  it  very 
wrong,  dishonest,  foolish  tempting  of  the  devil  to 
get  you  into  the  lock-up :  but  they  don't  look  at 
it  like  that ;  they  all  begin  it  from  sporting  instinct 
— first  a  rat  or  a  weasel,  then  a  rabbit,  then  a  wood- 
pigeon  or  a  wild  duck,  and  so  on,  till  they  get 
to  partridges  and  home  -  reared  pheasants.  Ah ! 
it's  a  bad  job !  That  poaching  brings  many  a  fine 
young  fellow  to  trouble.  It's  the  beginning  of  a  fall, 
Bess.  One  fault,  one  vice  breeds  many :  let  a  man 
think  himself  a  scoundrel,  and  he  proceeds  to  live 
up  to  it ;  let  his  neighbours  whisper  ill  of  him, 
and  he  will  make  the  scandal  a  true  story.  It's  a 
marvellous  rum  thing  is  conscience,  and  I  often 
think  'tis  like  one  of  our  boats  on  the  slide  that 


THE  SEARCH.  97 

goes  down  to  the  beach  ;  it's  mortal  hard  to  get 
her  up,  but  a  child  can  set  her  slithering  on  the 
downward  track." 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must  put  the  tea-thing, 
away,  for  he  won't  come  in  to-night,  I  fear." 

"  Aye,  Bess,  put  them  up ;  you're  an  example 
to  us  all,  I'm  sure,  for  faith  and  patience,  and  you 
deserve  to  be  put  alongside  old  Job  hisself." 

"  Hush,  John !  don't  compare  me  with  Bible 
names.  But  stay !  was  that  the  gate  snicked  ? " 

Alas !  it  was  only  the  wife  of  a  deacon  who  was 
yearning  for  a  chat. 

What,  then,  was  Minnie  doing  with  the  lanthorn  ? 

Well,  the  more  she  had  thought  about  it,  the 
more  she  had  felt  constrained  to  find  out  whether 
Giles  had  indeed  a  gun  hidden  in  the  faggots ; 
till  at  last  she  could  rest  no  longer,  but  rushed 
forth  into  the  dark  street  with  her  lanthorn,  not 
yet  lighted,  and  made  for  the  lane  by  which  she 
had  returned  in  the  afternoon. 

It  was  not  yet  late  enough  for  the  chapel-goers 
to  meet  her ;  the  streets  were  silent  and  deserted ; 
most  of  the  folk  were  still  at  tea  or  sitting  round 
the  fire. 

As  she  passed  along  she  heard  in  one  house  loud 
voices,  and  said  to  herself,  "There's  Joe  Fletcher 
arguing  with  his  wife."  From  another  she  heard  the 
dismal  strains  of  a  harmonium,  and  said,  "Poor 
Miss  Smith !  she's  going  through  her  four  Sunday 
tunes."  But,  as  a  rule,  there  was  a  deep  silence 
within  and  without,  and  when  she  left  behind  her 
the  lights  of  the  last  house,  she  began  to  feel  some- 
thing akin  to  fear. 

Yet  was  not  the  lane  quite  dark,  for  the  snow 
on  the  road  reflected  a  pale  light  which  served 
to  direct  her  steps,  and  before  she  had  reached  the 
woods  she  turned  to  look  at  the  sea,  and  saw  a 

H 


98  VELVETEENS. 

beautiful  silver  beam  illuminating  the  distant  waters. 
Presently  from  the  edge  of  a  fleecy  cloud  the  bright 
moon  stole  out  and  swam  into  the  blue,  making 
the  whole  scene,  ocean,  cliffs,  red-bricked  town, 
black  wood,  and  sparkling  snow,  as  clear  as  though 
they  had  been  seen  in  daylight.  Then  she  moved 
forward,  with  her  long  shadow  stalking  before  her, 
and  the  idle  lanthorn  flapping  and  tinkling  as  it 
swayed  with  every  step  she  took. 

Soon  she  had  reached  the  cart-track  which  crossed 
the  moor,  and  went  in  the  shade  of  the  high  hedge 
up  the  long  ascent,  and,  whenever  she  stopped  to 
take  breath,  she  could  hear  little  noises  in  the 
heather  or  along  the  hedge — sometimes  a  rustle,  as 
of  a  weasel  in  pursuit  of  a  rabbit ;  sometimes  a  bird 
stirring  uneasily  on  its  perch ;  sometimes  a  distant 
squeak,  as  of  some  victim  caught  by  a  blood- 
thirsty foe. 

And  yet  above  all  floated  the  silver  moon,  so 
majestically  calm  and  beautiful ;  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  God  in  heaven  cared  not  how  cruel  were  the 
creatures  of  earth.  Perhaps,  she  thought,  he  cares 
not  whether  Giles  turns  out  a  bad  man  or  a 
good  man,  cares  not  whether  I  suffer  a  whole  life 
of  misery,  or  whether  I  am  happy  and  blessed. 
God  is  so  far  off,  woman  is  so  small  and  weak, 
not  worth  His  notice  :  He  has  greater  things  to 
think  of. 

Poor  Minnie !  she  knew  well  enough  that  she 
was  wrong,  she  felt  in  her  heart  that  this  was  all 
a  lie :  but  to-night  she  could  not  help  being  a  little 
bitter  ;  somehow  things  were  going  wrong  with  her, 
and  she  knew  not  why  ;  she  had  a  feeling  that  Giles 
would  never  turn  from  his  bad  ways,  and  a  sense  of 
loneliness  and  despair  was  coming  over  her.  Pre- 
sently she  drew  near  the  faggot-stack  with  a  beating 
heart,  and  stole  on  tiptoe  across  the  frozen  heath 


THE  SEARCtf.  99 

towards  the  great  shadow  which  it  cast  upon  the 
snow.  She  had  to  stoop  and  peer  about  before  she 
found  an  entrance  at  one  end,  just  large  enough  for 
one  person  to  enter  at  a  time.  It  was  dark  within, 
but  luckily  she  had  her  lanthorn  ;  soon  its  red  light 
was  contrasting  with  the  pale  moonbeams  outside, 
and  she  began  to  look  carefully  for  any  signs  of  con- 
cealed treasure.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  ;  she 
began  to  think  the  men  must  have  returned  for  their 
guns.  But  still  she  went  on  trying  the  faggots,  to 
see  if  any  of  the  bundles  were  loose,  and  at  last  she 
pulled  one  out  easily,  and,  on  holding  the  lanthorn 
to  the  hole  which  she  had  made,  she  discerned  the 
butts  of  three  guns. 

With  trembling  hands  she  pulled  them  out  and 
carefully  examined  them.  Yes,  they  had  marks  on 
them,  but  they  were  figures  of  animals ;  one  had  a 
fish,  the  second  was  decorated  with  a  dog's  head, 
the  third  had  a  figure  of  a  seal  upon  it.  But  why 
did  Minnie  Fletcher  start  when  she  saw  the  rude 
engraving  of  the  seal  ? 

Because  it  reminded  her  of  a  little  trifle  in  her 
childhood :  many  years  ago  she  had  amused  the 
company  gathered  round  her  mother's  fire  by  saying, 
"  I  like  Cousin  Giles's  eyes,  mother,  because  they  are 
just  like  the  seal's  that  the  men  from  Lynn  brought 
round  last  summer."  The  good  folk  had  laughed  at 
the  time,  and  Giles  was  often  called  "  Minnie's  seal," 
and  would  tease  her  by  asking  if  she  should  carry 
him  round,  when  she  was  a  big  girl,  for  the  neigh- 
bours to  stare  at. 

All  this  came  back  to  her  when  she  looked  upon 
the  figure  of  the  seal,  and  made  her  feel  very  miser- 
able. She  had  not  much  doubt  now  that  the  gun 
belonged  to  Giles.  Now,  what  should  she  do?  Should 
she  leave  the  gun  there,  or  carry  it  back  to  Giles 
and  accuse  him  of  having  deceived  her  ?  But,  she  re- 


100  VELVETEENS. 

fleeted,  though  the  gun  was  his,  she  could  not  prove 
that  he  had  been  using  it ;  some  one  else  might 
have  had  it  out  to-day.  In  fact,  she  felt  sure  that 
Giles  would  not  have  told  her  a  lie  ;  when  she 
recalled  his  tender  words  she  reproached  herself 
for  suspecting  him  for  a  moment.  What,  then,  was 
she  to  do  ? 

A  sudden  thought  shot  into  her  brain.  She  re- 
placed the  other  guns,  hid  the  shortened  fowling- 
piece  under  her  cloak,  blew  out  the  lanthorn,  and 
left  the  faggot-heap,  striding  swiftly  over  the  crisp 
tufts  of  heather,  and  descending  the  hill.  But  when 
she  reached  the  lane,  she  turned  inland,  away  from 
her  home ! 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  CLUE. 

[I  was  a  narrow  lane  between  high  banks 
which  Minnie  had  chosen.  There  were 
woods  on  either  side,  and  the  moon  had 
not  yet  risen  high  enough  to  peep  with 
genial  face  into  that  dark  recess. 
Minnie  trudged  along  rather  slowly,  for  the  gun 
under  her  cloak  and  the  lanthorn  in  her  hand  made 
walking  uphill  rather  hard  work.  But  she  had  an 
idea,  and  was  bent  on  carrying  it  out :  and  when 
a  Fletcher  gets  hold  of  an  idea,  it  takes  a  mighty 
strong  will  to  thwart  it ;  for  it  seems  to  have  fangs, 
like  a  double  tooth,  which  reach  down  into  the  very 
depths  of  will  and  conscience. 

At  last  she  emerged  from  the  protecting  banks 
upon  the  top  of  the  moor,  where  the  snow  was  spark- 
ling about  the  gorse  and  heather  in  the  brightest  of 
moonbeams.  Here  four  roads  crossed,  and  Minnie 
turned  sharp  to  the  right  down  the  road  which  led 
direct  to  Beckthorp.  It  was  easier  now,  but  rather 
slippery,  for  the  road  wound  round  in  its  downward 
course  between  sandy  banks  fringed  with  gorse  and 


102  VELVETEENS. 

yellow  bracken.  Soon  she  reached  the  sleepy  village. 
Not  a  soul  was  stirring  in  the  street ;  the  church, 
too,  was  dark,  for  there  was  no  evening  service. 
By  the  churchyard  she  turned  up  to  the  left,  and 
climbed  the  hill  that  led  to  the  gamekeeper's 
lodge. 

Yes,  there  was  a  light  burning  in  the  window. 
Quietly  she  shut  the  gate  and  crossed  the  little  bridge 
that  spanned  the  stream,  and,  as  she  drew  near  the 
lodge,  the  sound  of  singing  struck  upon  her  ear. 
Was  there  company  within  ?  if  so,  she  must  return. 
She  stopped  and  listened.  She  could  hear  two  voices, 
a  man's  and  a  woman's  ;  they  were  singing  a  Christ- 
mas hymn — "On  earth  peace,  and  good  will  to 
men." 

It  was  important  for  Minnie  to  be  assured  that  no 
one  else  was  present  except  Angus  Forbes  and  his 
sister ;  so  she  stepped  across  the  border,  and  placed 
her  face  close  to  the  diamond  panes  of  the  window. 
Then  she  saw  for  a  moment  Angus  standing  on  one 
side  of  the  fireplace,  and  Jean  sitting  by  the 
table — no  one  else  was  there.  But  just  as  she  got 
close  to  the  window  the  lanthorn  rattled  against  the 
stone  wall ;  then  the  dogs  behind  the  lodge  broke 
out  into  angry  barking.  Angus  glanced  toward 
the  window,  and  in  a  moment  dashed  across  the 
room  towards  the  door,  and  almost  before  Minnie 
could  recover  herself  and  regain  the  path,  a  strong 
hand  had  clutched  her  shoulder,  and  Angus  had 
growled — 

"Who  are  you?  What  are  you  doing  at  my 
window  ? " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Forbes,  you  hurt  me ! "  cried  the 
frightened  girl. 

"  What !  is  it  Minnie  Fletcher  ?  I  ask  your  pardon, 
I'm  sure.  Come  in  and  warm  yourself,  do !  When 
I  heard  the  dogs  give  tongue,  I  thought  sure  it  was 


THE   CLUE.  103 

some  tramp.    Jean,  here's  Minnie  Fletcher  come  to 
see  you." 

Jean  jumped  up,  saying,  "Well,  I  never!  You've 
given  us  all  a  start.  But  come  in,  dear.  There's 
something  the  matter,  I  doubt ;  you're  looking 
scared-like,  and  as  white  as  a  sheet." 

"  Let  me  take  the  lanthorn,"  said  Angus,  and  he 
placed  a  chair  for  her  near  the  fire. 

"  I'm  sorry,  neighbours,"  said  Minnie,  with  a  little 
gasp  and   half-repressed   sob, — "  I'm  very  sorry  to 
trouble  you  on  a  Sabbath  evening,  but — but — 
The  tears  were  in  Minnie's  eyes  now,  and  she  could 
not  go  on. 

"  Get  her  some  of  the  cordial,  Angus,"  whispered 
Jean  to  her  brother. 

But  when  Angus  left  the  room  to  fetch  the  cordial, 
Minnie  said,  "Kiss  me,. Jean,  and  promise  to  help  me 
in  my  trouble." 

With  some  difficulty  Angus  prevailed  upon  the 
little  lips  to  moisten  themselves  with  a  few  strength- 
ening drops.  He  coaxed  and  commanded,  and  at 
last  held  her  hands  as  if  she  had  been  a  struggling 
dog,  reluctant  to  take  proper  remedies. 

"  Well,  now  I  feel  much  better — I  really  do ; 
so  sit  you  down,  and  let  me  tell  you  why  I've 
come." 

"  Won't  you  take  your  cloak  off  first  ? "  asked  Jean. 

"  Not  yet  awhile,  thank  you.  What  I  came  here 
for  was  to  bring  you  something  that  I  want  you  to 
keep  for  me.  Angus  Forbes,  you  know  well  enough 
that  my  Cousin  Giles  goes  out  and  shoots  the  Squire's 
hares  and  rabbits  ? " 

Angus  nodded,  and  looked  very  grave. 

"  He's  not  a  bad  lad  at  heart,  Giles  isn't ;  but 
he  can't  keep  the  good  resolves  he  makes.  He 
falls  into  temptation,  and  forgets  himself,  and  all 
his  promises  are  broken  before  he  can  think  twice 


104  VELVETEENS. 

about  it.    Tis  a  thousand  pities  to  see  a  fine  young 
lad  go  to  his  ruin — and  he's  my  cousin." 

"Aye,  and  something  nearer  than  a  cousin/'  mur- 
mured Angus. 

Minnie  took  no  notice  of  the  interruption. 

"You  saw  him  out  walking  with  me  this  after- 
noon, when  some  of  his  pals  were  poaching  about 
yonder.  I  want  to  keep  him  steady ;  I  want  to 
save  him  from  disgrace  and  the  gaol, — and — and 
I  thought  one  good  thing  would  be  if  I  could  get 
his  gun  and  remove  it  from  harm's  way, — and  I've 
got  it." 

"  Did  he  give  it  you  of  his  freewill  ? "  asked 
Jean. 

"No,  I  found  out  where  he  kept  it,  and  I  took 
it ;  and  see,  here  it  is !  I've  had  it  under  my  cloak 
all  along." 

Thus  saying,  she  laid  it  down  in  two  pieces  on  the 
table. 

Angus  reached  out  his  hand,  and  fitted  the  butt 
end  on  to  the  barrel  without  saying  a  word. 

Minnie  rose  to  go.  "  I  shall  think  it  very  kind  of 
you,  Mr.  Forbes,  if  you  will  take  care  of  that  gun  for 
me.  It  may  be  doing  something  to  keep  a  young 
man  out  of  trouble  ;  and  you'll  not  regret  that,  will 
you  ? "  And  she  held  out  her  hand. 

Angus  pressed  it  as  he  replied,  "  The  piece  shall 
be  safe  with  me,  and  no  one  shall  be  the  wiser,  Miss 
Fletcher," — laying  an  emphasis  on  Miss.  "  I  don't 
feel  sorry  to  try  and  save  a  young  man  from  ruin, 
but  I'd  a  deal  rather  save  a  young  woman  from 
taking  a  step — a  rash  step — which  may  land  her  in  a 
lifelong  sorrow.  Oh,  Minnie,  why  will  you  not  love 
me?" 

"Ask  Jean  about  a  girl's  feelings,  Angus.  She 
will  tell  you  that  we  can't  put  our  affections  just 
where  we  like — can  we,  Jean  ?  Sometimes  we  love 


THE   CLUE.  105 

the  least  worthy  ;  and  perhaps  God  makes  us  that 
silly,  so  that  haply  our  love  may  lift  the  weaker  one 
into  a  higher  walk — a  better  way." 

"  That's  fine  preaching,  Minnie,"  said  Angus,  sadly. 
"  However,  if  you  can't  love  me,  there's  no  help  for 
it.  All  I  can  say  is,  if  ever  Minnie  Fletcher  wants 
a  friend  in  her  need,  she  has  only  got  to  call  here, 
and  I'm  ready  to  go  through  fire  and  water  for 
her." 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  good  friend,  —  thank 
you  a  thousand  times — and  Jean.  Good  night ; 
I  must  go." 

"Poor  thing!  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,"  said 
Jean,  "and  I  almost  thought  she  was  a-going  to 
kiss  you — her  face  came  so  near  yours." 

Angus  replied  by  a  heavy  sigh. 

He  sat  down  by  the  table,  and  leaned  his  face 
against  his  hands,  suffering  in  silence  for  many 
minutes ;  and  if  ever  Jean  spoke  to  him  in  a 
soothing  voice  he  gave  but  little  heed,  till  she 
went  up  to  him,  and  put  her  hand  on  his  shoulder, 
saying — 

"  Don't  take  on  like  that,  Angus.  I  can't  bear  to 
see  it.  If  she  likes  Giles  Fletcher  best,  she  is  no  fit 
wife  for  you." 

"Don't  say  that!"  said  Angus,  passionately ;  "don't 
speak  a  word  against  Minnie.  I  know  she's  too 
good  for  me,  but  I  can't  bear  that  slippery  liar,  Giles 
Fletcher,  getting  her — that's  too  much  for  me.  Poor 
little  Minnie  !  Poor  girl !  " 

Jean  was  surprised  by  her  brother's  outburst.  He 
who  was  generally  so  self-contained  seemed  quite 
carried  away  by  his  feelings.  His  eyes  looked  wild 
and  cruel.  Jean  saw  the  fire  of  jealousy  burning 
in  them,  and  it  frightened  her. 

She  opened  her  Bible,  and  began  to  read.  An 
hour  went  by,  and  still  Angus  sat  with  his  elbows 


106  VELVETEENS. 

on  the  table  and  his  face  buried  in  his  hands.  Then 
she  got  up,  and  said  softly— 

"Brother,  I'm  going  to  bed.  I  shall  not  forget  in 
my  prayers  to  ask  our  Heavenly  Father  to  give  you 
comfort." 

Angus  lifted  his  head,  and  replied — 

"Jean,  you're  a  good  girl;  but  I  doubt  I'm  past 
praying  for.  I  feel  as  if  a  devil  had  got  possession 
of  me." 

"  Heaven  help  you  in  your  trouble,  dear.  Think 
of  other  people's  sorrows,  and  your  own  will  seem 
smaller.  Do  nothing  rash,  Angus ;  but  remember 
little  Willie— and  me." 

"  Aye,  aye,  lass  ;  and  poor  father  too ! " 

Jean  went  to  her  room,  but  she  left  the  door  ajar 
that  she  might  hear  if  Angus  went  out. 

Jean's  room  was  upstairs ;  Angus  and  Willie  slept 
in  a  room  leading  out  of  their  sitting-room,  which  was 
also  the  kitchen.  Angus  was  muttering  to  himself. 
Something  in  the  sound  of  his  father's  name  had 
stirred  thoughts  within  him.  He  glanced  sharply 
round  the  room,  as  if  the  very  suspicion  which  had 
crossed  his  brain  was  too  dreadful  to  betray  to 
another.  All  was  quiet ;  Willie  was  sleeping  peace- 
fully in  the  next  room — he  could  hear  his  regular 
breathing. 

"  My  poor  father !  what  if—  Bah !  I  am  going 
mad.  It  is  impossible  !  Father !  father !  who  was 
thy  murderer  ?  God,  give  me  the  means  of  finding 
out  the  wretch  who  shot  my  poor  father.  Ah !  I 
have  been  too  careless  about  this ;  I  have  let  thy 
blood  grow  cold  on  the  ground,  father.  And  now 
I  turn  like  stone  all  over,  and  shiver  like  a  child,  I 
don't  know  why.  But  a  dreadful  suspicion  has  come 
to  me.  I  have  no  reason  for  it — none  at  all.  I 
believe  it  is  prompted  by  the  devil.  I  will  struggle 
against  it.  No ;  I  can  do  better  than  that — I  can 
disprove  it  in  a  moment." 


THE   CLUE.  ID/ 

Thus  muttering  to  himself,  Angus  Forbes  shook 
back  the  disordered  hair  from  his  face,  set  his  lips 
firmly,  and  took  up  Giles  Fletcher's  gun,  turning  it 
round  and  examining  the  barrel  with  a  keen  glance. 
Hardly  had  he  taken  it  up  when  he  dropped  it  with 
a  heavy  thud  upon  the  table. 

"What's  that?"  cried  Jean,  from  the  top  of  the 
stairs. 

"  Nothing,  lass,  nothing ;  I  only  dropped  some- 
thing. Good  night." 

But  Angus  had  turned  white  as  he  sat  back 
in  his  chair ;  then  he  pulled  his  handkerchief  out 
of  his  pocket,  and  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  fore- 
head. 

"What  must  be,  must  be,"  he  murmured,  as  he 
slowly  stood  up  to  reach  something  from  the 
ceiling. 

It  was  the  ram-rod  which  had  been  found  by  his 
father's  body  in  the  fir  wood,  and  which  had  been 
nailed  to  the  great  oak  beam  that  crossed  the 
ceiling. 

With  hands  that  trembled  a  little,  Angus  turned 
the  gun  round.  It  had  a  makeshift  ram-rod! 
Would  this  ram-rod  fit  ?  He  hoped  not — yes,  he 
devoutly  hoped  not  now.  It  would  be  too  dreadful 
to  find  that  Giles  had  been  the  murderer  of  his 
father,  that  Minnie  had  been  the  innocent  betrayer 
of  her  lover ! 

The  gun  had  been  shortened  in  the  barrel  for 
convenience  in  carrying  it  under  the  coat :  the  ram- 
rod had  had  a  piece  cut  off  one  end ;  it  exactly 
fitted ! 

Angus  put  the  gun  down  on  the  table,  and  sat 
down  to  think.  Who  was  the  murderer,  then  ? 
Was  it  Giles  ?  It  looked  very  much  as  if  Giles's 
gun  had  done  the  deed.  But  still  there  was  room 
for  doubt :  some  one  else  might  have  taken  his 


IOS  VELVETEENS. 

gun ;  one  of  his  friends,  who  knew  where  the  gun 
was  kept,  might  have  borrowed  it. 

Why  should  Giles  kill  the  keeper  ?  He  owed  him 
no  grudge  at  all.  There  was  no  motive  apparent ; 
it  was  most  improbable.  A  doubt  once  more  came 
into  the  young  man's  mind  ;  if  nearly  all  poachers 
used  shortened  guns,  then  this  ram-rod  need  not 
necessarily  belong  to  this  gun. 

He  again  took  up  the  gun  and  examined  it  care- 
fully ;  there  was  a  fish,  or  seal,  or  something  cut 
on  the  stock :  he  now  examined  the  ram-rod — the 
same  fish,  or  seal,  was  found  there ! 

Then  the  ram-rod  belonged  to  Giles's  gun ! 

Angus  sighed,  and  tried  to  think  what  he  should 
do.  As  he  shut  his  eyes,  he  seemed  to  see  his  father 
in  the  wood  pointing  to  the  blood  on  the  ground, 
and  saying,  "Avenge  this,  my  son,  if  thou  lovest 
me." 

Angus  shuddered  at  the  thought. 

Again  he  seemed  to  see  the  pale  face  of  Minnie 
Fletcher,  and  her  large  black  eyes  were  fixed  re- 
proachfully upon  him.  She  kept  on  saying,  "You 
have  brought  my  love  to  the  gallows !  You  have 
ruined  all  my  life." 

And  again  he  saw  himself  walking  down  the 
street,  and  could  hear  the  neighbours  whispering,  as 
he  passed,  "  There  goes  young  Mr.  Forbes,  the  man 
who  got  Giles  Fletcher  hanged  for  murder.  Why 
did  he  do  it,  do  you  say  ?  Out  of  jealousy.  They 
both  loved  the  same  young  woman." 

For  nearly  an  hour  he  sat,  pondering  over  the 
thoughts  that  came  to  him,  as  duty,  filial  love, 
jealousy,  alternately  mastered  his  mind.  He  might 
have  sat  there  all  night,  but  that  he  heard  Jean 
stirring  in  the  room  above  ;  so  he  hastily  rose  and 
replaced  the  ram-rod  by  the  joist,  and,  when  she 
called  lightly  down  the  staircase— 


THE  CLUE. 


109 


the  night   or 


"Arc   you   going   to  bed,  Angus, 
no?" 

"  Faith,  lass,"  he  called  back,  "  I  must  ha'  been 
dreaming.  I'll  sit  up  no  longer  to  fright  you  wi'  my 
vagaries  !  I'm  just  off  to  bed,  Jean.  The  fire's  safe 
and  the  windows  are  fast.  I'm  just  oflf  now.  Good 
night,  lass." 


mimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiin 


CHAPTER  XV. 
THE  HEDGER'S  STORY. 

NGUS  FORBES  had  plenty  to  do  out 
in  the  fields  and  woods,  so  that  the 
terrible  suspicion  did  not  weigh  on  him 
so  heavily  as  it  would  do  on  one  who 
led  a  less  active  life.  Yet  he  carried  the 
secret  about  with  him  wherever  he  went,  and  it  cast  a 
gloom  on  his  life  just  now.  The  spring  was  coming, 
the  pheasant  broods  must  be  thought  of,  coops  must 
be  painted  and  got  ready,  faggots  must  be  placed 
for  the  young  broods  to  run  to  if  a  hawk  came 
sailing  by,  and  grain  had  to  be  sown  in  the  clearings 
between  the  copses  to  attract  the  pheasants  and  keep 
them  together.  Willie  often  accompanied  his  brother, 
when  school  was  over,  and  vastly  enjoyed  himself, 
climbing  trees  for  eggs  or  young  squirrels.  Willie's 
tongue  wagged  fast  on  the  subject  of  finches  in  the 
hedge,  or  missel-thrushes  in  the  park,  or  tomtits  in 
the  loose  mortar  of  the  ha-ha  wall,  and  he  often 
silently  wondered  to  himself  why  Angus  was  so  glum 
and  silent.  The  very  dogs  that  followed  obedient  at 
his  heel  seemed  to  discover  a  difference  in  their 
master's  behaviour ;  one  would  whine  and  nose  his 
hand,  another  would  look  up  sideways  into  his  face 


THE  HEDGER'S  STORY.  in 

with  a  wistful  gaze,  and  then  with  a  sigh  would 
return  to  heel. 

Angus  went  about  his  work  without  taking  any 
step,  or  knowing  indeed  what  step  to  take. 

But  one  afternoon,  as  he  was  looking  at  an  old 
man  cutting  a  hedge,  he  heard  something  which 
startled  him. 

"Well,  George,"  he  had  said,  "don't  you  slash 
all  the  young  saplings ;  but  when  you  come  across 
one,  cut  away  the  bushes  on  each  side  to  give  it 
room,  do  ye  hear  ? " 

"Aye,  Mr.  Forbes ;  I  ha'  done  this  job  nigh  fifty 
year  now,  I  reckon.  What !  get  away,  you  sniffing 
brute ;  do  you  remember  the  taste  you  got  o'  my 
arm  yonder  ? " 

The  mastiff  bitch  had  jumped  across  the  ditch, 
and  was  vigorously  sniffing  round  the  man's  legs. 

"  What,  George !    she  surely  hasn't  bitten  you  ? " 

"Let  bygones  be  bygones — with  dogs  and  men, 
say  I.  I've  knowed  this  bitch  from  a  puppy,  and  she 
oughtn't  to  ha'  bitten  me  by  rights.  However,  we 
all  make  mistakes  sometimes,  master." 

The  old  man  turned  to  his  work,  and  slashed  away 
as  if  to  make  up  for  time  wasted,  making  believe 
to  hum  a  psalm  tune  the  while.  But  Angus,  having 
his  thoughts  always  on  one  subject,  had  noticed  the 
old  man's  confusion.  He  stood  for  some  minutes 
rapt  in  thought.  Old  George  had  been  noted  in  his 
young  days  as  a  poacher ;  he  was  suspected  even 
now  of  having  a  sneaking  kindness  that  way.  Now 
the  mastiff  bitch  was  never  allowed  out  with  any 
one  but  himself;  his  father  had  kept  her  in  the 
kennel  unless  he  had  taken  her  out  himself.  When 
could  she  have  bitten  George,  then  ? 

He  remembered  that  on  the  fatal  night  when 
his  father  was  murdered,  this  bitch  followed  on  the 
track  of  the  murderer.  Was  George,  then,  the  villain 


112  VELVETEENS. 

who  had  robbed  him  of  his  beloved  father?  It 
looked  like  it,  certainly.  George  had  doubtless  taken 
Giles  Fletcher's  gun  from  its  hiding-place  ;  it  was  old 
George  who  had,  perhaps  for  some  harsh  words,  so 
cruelly  shot  his  father.  As  this  conclusion  pressed 
itself  upon  him,  he  felt  his  heart  throb,  and  a  fierce 
desire  came  upon  him  to  set  the  mastiff  upon  the 
old  scoundrel,  and  see  her  tear  his  throat  out.  But 
he  clenched  his  fist,  and  breathed  hard,  and  said 
nothing.  When,  at  last,  George  turned  round  to 
look  at  the  man  who  stood  there  so  long  watching 
him,  the  stern,  set  mouth,  the  angry  eyes  frightened 
him. 

"  Oh,  Lor',  Mr.  Forbes,  how  you  do  look  at  un ! " 

"I  am  trying  hard  to  restrain  my  just  anger, 
George.  I  am  trying  to  keep  my  hand  from  killing 
you." 

The  old  man  dropped  his  bill-hook,  as  if  he  had 
been  shot ;  his  lower  jaw  fell,  and  he  stared  wildly. 

"  What  would  you  do  if  you  were  in  my  place  ? 
What  would  you  do  if  you  saw  before  you  the 
murderer  of  your  father  ? " 

"There!  I  thought  you  was  at  that,  sir,  I  did 
indeed.  Don't  look  like  that,  Mr.  Angus  Forbes  ; 
you  frighten  me.  I  can  explain  all  I've  ever  done 
— I  can  so,  sir." 

"Come  across  the  ditch,  and  speak  the  truth- 
ay,  speak  the  truth,  and  I'll  never  hand  you  over  to 
the  police.  But  if  I  catch  you  lying,  this  bitch  shall 
bury  her  fangs  in  your  windpipe.  Now,  do  you 
understand  me  ? " 

"  I  do,  sir,  I  do.  Oh  that  I  should  live  to  see  the 
day !  But  what  can  I  do  ?  You  don't  want  me  to 
tell  no  names  ? " 

"Tell  me  first  how  the  bitch  got  hold  of  you." 

The  old  man  looked  down,  then,  out  of  his  eye- 
corners  :  he  was  evidently  seeking  for  a  lie  that 


THE   HEDGER'S   STORY.  113 

would  save  him  and  his  friends ;  he  coughed  and 
spat,  and  coughed  again. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Angus  ;  "  I  see  you  don't  mean 
telling  me  the  truth  this  side  o'  midsummer,  so  I 
will  put  the  matter  in  the  hands  of  the  police.  I 
think  you  will  swing  for  it,  George.  You  see,  there's 
no  other  time  that  this  bitch  could  have  bitten  you, 
except  the  night  my  father  was  shot:  that  looks 
bad  for  you,  doesn't  it  ?  And  I'll  tell  you  something 
more :  you  borrowed  a  gun  that  night,  and  you 
dropped  the  ram-rod  ;  there  was  a  mark  on  the 
ram-rod,  and  there  was  the  same  mark  on  the  gun. 
I've  got  the  gun,  and  I  know  whose  it  is." 

George  started  at  this,  and  muttered,  half  to  him- 
self, "  If  he  knows  who  'tis,  it  won't  be  splitting  if 
I  tell  un." 

"  You  can  do  as  you  like  about  telling  me ;  it  is 
against  you  that  the  strongest  evidence  now  lies." 

George  broke  out  into  a  sweat,  great  beads  stood 
on  his  forehead,  and  he  visibly  trembled  with  excite- 
ment. 

"  Mr.  Forbes,  you  won't  say  I've  gone  and  peached 
now ! " 

"Certainly  not.  Speak  the  truth,  and  no  harm 
shall  come  to  you  for  it." 

"You  won't  have  un  run  in  for  the — unfortunate 
job?" 

"  I  shall  give  no  promise  of  that  kind.  If  you 
make  your  friends  amongst  murderers,  you  must 
expect  some  of  them  to  come  to  untimely  ends." 

"  Well,  sir,  it  was  this  how ;  but  I  needn't 
name  no  names  to-day,  if  you  please." 

"  Go  on  ;  if  it  suits  me,  I  shall  ask  you  for  the 
name." 

"  I'd  a  deal  rather  be  shot  in  the  leg  than  split 
on  un  ;  howiver,  it  was  this  how.  I  'ad  come  out  to 
see  a  hare  snicked  by  some  of  our  young  chaps,  and 

I 


114  VELVETEENS. 

I  was  standing  top  o'  yon  hill  when  a  young  fellow 
came  running  up  straight  towards  me,  he  did ;  and 
just  as 

"  Stop !  had  there  been  any  shot  fired  in  the  wood 
then?" 

George  examined  his  boot,  and  saw  an  opening 
for  a  lie. 

"Oh  no  ;  not  a  shot  had  been  fired,  that  I'll 
swear ! " 

"  All  right ;  go  on  with  your  tale." 

"  Well,  mister,  just  as  the  young  chap  was  gotten 
nigh  where  I  was,  I  saw  this  'ere  bitch  following, 

muzzle  down,  and " 

\  "  Stop,  you  wicked  liar ! "  shouted  Angus,  seizing 
him  by  the  throat,  and  nearly  throttling  him,  while 
the  mastiff  sprang  at  him  and  knocked  him  clean 
over. 

"  Down,  bitch,  down !  There,  you're  not  much 
hurt ;  but  I  warn  you,  you  must  tell  me  no  more 
lies." 

"Blessed  if  it  was  a  lie,  mister.  Why  do  you  say 
'twas  a  lie  ? " 

"  Because  this  bitch  was  held  in  a  leather  leash 
till  the  keeper  was  shot.  I  then  let  her  go  after 
the  murderer." 

A  low  whistle  came  from  George's  white  lips ;  it 
evidently  meant  that,  for  his  part,  he  gave  up  the 
game. 

"  Now,  I  hope,  mister,  you  don't  think  I  told  that 
lie  to  save  my  own  neck.  No  ;  it  was  to  save  young 
• — him  I,  mean,  as  the  gun  belonged  to." 

"  Ah  yes ;  you  mean  Giles  Fletcher." 

"Well,  I'm  gormed!  if  you  don't  know  every 
mortal  thing ! " 

"  I  told  you  I  had  his  gun,  George.  Go  on  with 
your  tale." 

"Yes,  just  as  Giles  was  close  to  me,  up  comes  the 


THE  HEDGER'S  STORY.  US 

bitch,  and  jumps  up  about  his  shoulders.  Lor',  what 
a  screech  he  gave,  to  be  sure !  But  I  seized  her  by 
her  collar,  and  was  dragging  her  off  when  she  bit  me 
i'  the  arm.  Look !  you  can  see  the  blamed  scar  now. 
Then  we  tied  her  to  a  tree,  and  left  her.  And  I'm 
strange  and  sorry  I  ever  had  owt  to  do  wi'  that  job. 
Mr.  Forbes — the  old  un — was  as  nice't  a  gentleman 
as  ever  broke  a  dog.  I  was  that  sorry  when  I  heard 
un  had  shot  un  as  if  it  'ad  been  my  own  son.  Not 
but  what  it  was  an  accident,  in  course.  Why 
should  any  one  wish  to  kill  the  keeper  ? " 

A  wave  of  tender  feeling  rushed  over  Angus, 
and  choked  him.  Ah !  why  should  any  one  desire 
to  kill  his  father?  Had  he  not  been  kindness 
itself  to  everybody  who  needed  help  or  comfort 
in  time  of  trouble  ?  When  he  could,  he  stammered 
out— 

"  How  many  guns  had  you  out  that  night  ? " 

"  Only  that  one,  sir, — leastways,"  he  corrected  him- 
self on  reflection,  "  there  might  have  been  more,  so 
there  might." 

"Well,  I  suppose  there's  nothing  more  to  be  got 
from  you  to-day.  Now,  shall  you  go  straight  to 
Giles  Fletcher,  and  tell  him  he's  suspected  of  the 
murder  ? " 

"  Not  I !  He  would  say,  *  Who's  been  splitting  on 
me  ? '  I  shan't  take  no  more  notice  of  what  we've 
been  saying  than  a  child's  doll." 

"I  should  advise  you  to  keep  your  mouth  shut, 
George.  I'm  glad  to  find  you  didn't  do  it,  but  it's 
a  terrible  thing  to  think  that  young  Fletcher — 

"  It  is,  sir ;  not  but  what  it  might  ha'  been 
any  one  else,  you  know, — we  munna  jump  at  it 
like." 

"He  dropped  his  ram-rod  by  my  father's  body, 
George." 

"  I  forgot  that,  mister.    H'm !  it's  getting  rather 


Il6  VELVETEENS. 

'  queer  story '  now ;  and  I  am  so  wooden-headed, 
I'm  afraid  of  saying  owt  for  fear  I  should  mak' 
things  worsen  If  I  may,  mister,  I'd  like  to  go  on 
plashing  that  there  hedge.  I'm  never  satisfied 
when  I'm  gossiping  about." 

"  No,  you're  a  whining  old  hypocrite  and  a 
liar,"  thought  Angus,  as  he  called  the  mastiff  and 
walked  away. 

"  She  would  let  a  little  more  light  into  the  story," 
he  said  to  himself,  as  he  swung  over  the  heather, 
"  if  I  were  to  take  her  down  and  let  her  see  Giles 
Fletcher.  I  wonder  if  the  bitch  would  take  any 
notice  of  him  now !  I  must  contrive  to  let  her  get 
sight  of  him  before  long." 

The  young  gamekeeper  went  back  to  the  tall 
wood  where  his  father  had  lain.  He  sat  down  on 
a  fallen  tree  near  the  sacred  spot,  and  rested  his 
hot  forehead  on  one  hand,  remaining  so  long  motion- 
less that  a  hare  cantered  before  him  quite  uncon- 
cernedly, and  two  young  rabbits  frolicked  before 
his  eyes,  and  then  sat  up  and  washed  their  faces  in 
the  prettiest  way  imaginable.  Yet  he  sat  pondering 
on  the  moral  problem  which  was  making  his  heart 
ache.  It  was  here  his  father  was  shot ;  there  had 
been  the  blood-stains,  and  they  called  loudly  on  him 
for  his  avenging  arm.  If  Giles  was  the  murderer, 
as  it  seemed  only  too  probable,  ought  he  not  to 
denounce  him  at  once  ?  Ought  he  to  allow  Minnie 
to  marry  a  murderer?  Ought  he  not  to  save  her 
from  so  fearful  a  fate  ? 

Yet,  again,  if  he  should  be  mistaken,  and  if  Giles 
should  be  accused  by  him  in  vain,  would  not  people 
say  he  had  sought  to  destroy  a  rival  by  wicked 
slander  ? 

Angus  sighed  to  himself  as  he  saw  difficulties 
arise  in  whatever  course  he  might  take. 

"  I  must  wait,"  he  thought,  "  and  seek  more  light, 


THE  HEDGER'S  STORY.  117 

stronger  evidence.  Giles  may  be  innocent ;  God 
grant  he  may ! " 

Above  his  head  the  wood-pigeons  cooed  and  made 
love ;  all  nature  seemed  happy  and  at  peace.  He 
said  to  himself,  "  Yes,  it  is  true — man  alone  is  vile." 
Then  the  mastiff  came  and  put  her  nose  into  his 
hand,  startling  him  out  of  his  brown  study.  He  rose 
from  his  moss-grown  seat,  and  set  his  face  towards 
the  hill  and  home.  It  was  better,  at  all  events,  to 
be  up  and  stirring,  doing  the  day's  duty  manfully, 
rather  than  sitting  down  to  meditate  on  to-morrow's 
possibilities.  He  felt  this ;  he  determined  to  bide 
his  time,  and  see  what  more  could  be  gleaned  from 
the  field  of  observation.  But,  though  he  resolved 
to  throw  off  care  and  play  the  man,  none  the  less 
did  the  smile  die  out  of  his  eye  and  the  dimple 
fade  from  his  cheek.  Jean  noticed  the  change  in 
him,  and,  sighing  quietly,  made  no  remark.  Little 
Willie  grumbled  to  himself  and  to  the  puppies. 

"  Angus  ain't  up  to  any  games  now.  That  comes 
o'  wearing  father's  velveteens,  drat  'em !  I  don't 
see  why  folks  should  give  over  playing  games  when 
they  grows  up ;  do  you,  puppy  ?  I  shan't.  That's 
why  so  few  folk  tries  to  be  good,  I  know ;  'cos 
the  old  folks  makes  out  there's  no  games  up 
yonder."  And  Willie  lifted  his  eyes  slightingly  to 
the  scudding  cloud. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


GEORGE  PLAYS  A  TRUMP  CARD. 

FEW  evenings  after  Angus  had  had  the 
talk  with  old  George,  Giles  Fletcher 
strolled  in  to  see  what  was  going  on  in 
the  Jolly-boats  Tavern. 

"  Well  done,  Giles,  lad !  yer  don't 
often  pay  us  a  visit  nowadays — too  busy  sweet- 
hearting,  I  reckon." 

Giles  smiled  one  of  his  handsome  smiles,  and 
kissed  his  hand  at  the  speaker,  who  looked  some- 
what obscure  through  the  veil  of  smoke  which  was 
curling  lazily  about  the  warm  room. 

"There's  talk  of  bringing  a  railway  to  this  'ere 
place,"  said  one  of  the  Fletchers,  as  Giles  stirred 
his  grog  in  the  tumbler. 

"Well,  I  guess  we  shall  reap  the  benefit  of  it," 
said  Giles,  looking  round  at  the  company  for  the  first 
time. 

"  Shall  us  get  a  better  market  for  our  fish  ? "  said 
a  weatherbeaten  old  sailor  whose  front  teeth  had 
gone  by  the  board. 

"  Yes,  we  shall,"  said  Giles ;  "  and,  what's  more, 
it'll  fetch  a  lot  of  visitors  here  for  us  to  pluck  like 
pigeons." 


GEORGE  PLAYS  A  TRUMP  CARD.  lip 

"That's  all  very  well  for  you  rich  chaps  as  has 
apartments  to  let,  and  nicknacks  on  the  chimbley- 
piece,  and  a  pianny  to  tinkle  in  the  parlour.  But 
what  good  will  they  visitors  do  ussen  ?" 

"Anyhow,  they'll  eat  your  fish,  John;  but  if 
this  'ere  railway  be  a  coming  really,  the  best 
thing  for  every  fisherman  in  Beckthorp  would  be 
to  sell  his  boat  and  tackle  and  buy  a  house,  or 
build  one.  Three  hundred  pounds  will  do  it,  and 
you  can  borrow  most  of  it.  If  you  want  to  be  rich, 
lads,  that's  the  gainest  way  to  make  your  pile." 

An  old  grumbler  rose  in  the  corner,  and,  ad- 
vancing unsteadily  to  the  table  with  his  glass  in  his 
hand,  remarked,  with  some  emphasis  and  temper — 

"  Hang  me  if  I  like  these  'ere  iron  roads.  We  was 
well  enough  off  afore.  What  do  they  want  to  come 
and  shoot  a  lot  of  foreigners  on  our  shore  for,  I'd 
like  to  know  ?  When  we  get  a  train  puffing  about, 
folks  '11  go  away  to  do  their  shopping ;  they  won't 
buy  at  my  store." 

"  Not  unless  you  get  in  some  new  cheeses  some- 
times, Ned." 

The  conversation  then  became  so  personal,  the 
cheese  question  so  virulent,  that  the  landlord  had 
to  interfere,  and  beg  the  company  to  be  jolly  on 
pain  of  dismissal. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Giles  ;  "we  are  here  to  refresh 
ourselves,  not  to  quarrel  over  Ned's  cheeses.  Ned, 
you  shut  up  your  shutters  now,  and  take  a  bit  of 
advice  in  good  part.  There's  no  doubt  that  a  rail- 
way makes  trade,  and  those  who  can  soonest  fit 
themselves  to  new  surroundings  will  prosper  most. 
But,  mates,  if  the  railways  would  lower  their  rates 
for  parcels,  so  that  country  eggs,  chicken,  crabs, 
lobsters,  fish  could  go  to  market  right  cheap,  what 
a  roaring  trade  we  should  have !  There's  thousands 
— millions  of  people — who  are  waiting  for  our 


120  VELVETEENS. 

country  produce,  and  can't  get  it,  because  the  rates 
are  too  high." 

"  Shame  !  "     "  Why  does  they  do  it  ? " 

"Aye,  boys,  they  must  in  time  come  round  to  see 
which  side  their  bread  is  buttered  ;  and  if  they  can't 
— rf  they're  going  to  stand  across  the  iron  road, 
like  Dick  Turpin,  then  I  say  the  Government  must 
step  in  and  buy  up  the  railroads." 

"  Well,  if  that  isn't  a  good  un  !  "  "  He  be  a  smart 
young  feller,  that!"  "Ought  to  be  a  member  o' 
Parly-ment,  surely!" 

Giles  was  enjoying  the  sweet  incense  of  flattery, 
when  he  felt  some  one  pulling  at  his  jacket. 

"What's  that  you  said  just  now  about  buying  a 
house  for  tree-hundard  pounds  neighbour  ? " 

Giles  turned  and  saw  old  George,  the  hedger,  who 
had  been  sitting  quietly  in  the  corner  by  the  fire. 
He  was  in  drink. 

"  Didn't  you  hear,  old  un  ?  I'm  not  going  to  say 
it  again  to  please  a  boozey  old  fool  like  you." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  it  ? "  said  George,  in  a  superior  tone  ; 
"but  I'm  not  so  boozed  as  not  to  know  who  I'm 
a-speaking  to." 

"Well,  go  and  lie  down,  and  don't  trouble  your 
betters." 

"  My  betters,  indeed !  I'll  larn  you  to  speak 
respectful,  young  man,  afore  I've  done  with  you, 
• — remember  Maister  Forbes ! " 

Giles  started.  The  man  was  in  liquor,  certainly, 
but  he  might  do  a  great  deal  of  harm  if  he  set 
people  thinking  that  Giles  Fletcher  was  the  man 
who  shot  the  gamekeeper. 

"  Do  yer  hear,  young  Giles  Fletcher  ?  You've  got 
to  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  yer  head  when  you  speaks 
to  the  likes  o'  me.  Why  shouldn't  I  have  a  tree- 
hundard  pound  house  as  well  as  the  rest  o'  'em  ? 
You'll  ha'  to  lend  me  some  money,  young  tin." 


GEORGE   PLAYS  A  TRUMP  CARD.  121 

"All  right.  George,  don't  speak  so  loud.  If  you 
want  to  talk  to  me  about  money,  go  on  the  cliff 
west'ard,  and  I'll  come  to  you." 

George  was  sober  enough  to  see  that  he  could 
make  his  bargain  better  when  no  one  was  by ;  and 
he  did  not  want  to  get  Giles  into  any  trouble  about 
the  keeper.  He  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  Giles 
had  fired  the  fatal  shot,  but  he  could  not  feel  sure 
about  it.  He  had  never  said  anything  to  Giles 
about  it  before  to-night,  and  it  was  only  the  extra 
tumbler  that  had  made  him  daring  enough  to  hint 
at  it.  However,  the  thing  was  done  now ;  so  he 
slowly  rose  to  depart,  smiling  to  himself  an  imbe- 
cile smile  of  satisfaction,  and  feeling  proud  of  his 
position  of  superiority  over  Giles  Fletcher. 

"  Depend  upon  it,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  when 
he  got  outside,  "there's  something  in  it,  or  he 
wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  meet  me  on  the  cliff 
and  talk  things  over." 

Giles  waited  a  decent  while,  and  then  followed 
George ;  but  he  was  turning  hot  and  cold  and 
shivering  with  terror,  for  he  felt  that  this  old  man 
held  his  fate  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand  ;  the  night- 
mare of  the  gallows  which  had  tortured  him  so 
often  seemed  to  be  coming  true.  It  was  nearly  dark 
now,  and  he  had  almost  touched  the  stile  before  he 
saw  George  sitting  there  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth. 

"  Halloa,  George,  what  do  you  want  with  me  ? " 

"I've  been  thinking,  Giles  Fletcher,  that  I've 
known  you  since  ever  you  was  a  baby,  and  I'm  not 
the  man  to  try  and  get  any  one  as  is  friendly  into 
trouble— not  I.'1 

"  But  what  did  you  mean  by  saying,  '  Remember 
Master  Forbes '  ?  You're  in  liquor,  George,  and 
don't  hardly  know  what  you're  about.  If  you  said 
that  when  you  were  sober,  I  should 

"  What    'ud    yer   do  ? "    snarled    George,    as   the 


i$2  VELVETEENS. 

alcohol  supplied  him  with  five  of  courage  to  one 
of  prudence. 

"  Look  here,  old  un,  it's  cold  sitting  here.  Come 
up  on  cliff,  and  we  can  walk  and  keep  warm  as  we 
talk  this  out." 

George  unsteadily  dropped  off  the  stile,  and  his 
"  one  of  prudence  "  led  him  to  walk  on  the  landward 
side,  for  he  felt  like  staggering  off  the  cliff  when  he 
walked  too  near. 

They  went  some  hundred  yards  in  silence.  The 
turf  was  springy  and  soft,  but  there  were  many 
rabbit-holes  difficult  to  avoid  in  the  gloaming.  On 
their  left  loomed  the  dark  woods  of  the  Squire  ;  on 
their  right  moaned  the  grey,  restless  sea,  with  a 
cadence  of  trailing  pebbles.  The  cliff  was  getting 
higher  and  higher  as  they  ascended  the  solitary 
slope  of  greensward. 

"  George,  you  aren't  fit  for  arguing  just  now,  I 
reckon  ;  but  you  can  understand,  can't  you  ? " 

"  Aye,  lad  ;  let's  hear  how  much  you'll  give  un." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  mean  to  let  folks  think  I 
was  the  chap  who  shot  Master  Forbes,  don't  you  ? J) 

"  Not  if  I  can  get  helped  to  a  nice  house,  Giles. 
I'll  be  the  last  man  in  the  parish  to  speak  ill  of  my 
neighbour." 

"  Thank  you  for  nothing !  And  suppose  I  said  I 
would  not  give  you  a  brass  farthing,  and  you  might 
tell  what  lies  you  liked  ?  they  couldn't  harm  an 
innocent  man." 

"  Ah,  well ;  then  it  'ud  be  mortal  hard  for  you, 
Giles.  I  did  not  see  you  shoot  un,  did  I  ? " 

"  No ;  you  only  guess  it  because  you  saw  me  run 
from  the  wood,  as  the  other  chaps  did." 

The  beer  was  preventing  prudence  from  keeping 
sealed  lips ;  beer  blurted  out  evidence  which  the 
old  man  had  been  thinking  out  and  treasuring  up, 
night  after  night,  in  the  dark  corner  of  the  Three 


GEORGE  PLAYS  A  TRUMP  CARD.  123 

Jolly-boats,  day  after  day,  amongst  the  clinging 
creepers  of  the  overgrown  hedge. 

"Aye,  lad  ;  'tother  chaps  ran  away — very  like, — 
but  the  old  bitch — she  knew  fast  enough  who  'ad 
killed  her  maister." 

Giles  was  taken  aback.  The  evidence  of  the 
mastiff  was  so  impartial.  He  felt  that  people  would 
be  impressQjd  by  that  more  than  by  anything  else. 

"  Look  here,  George ;  I  don't  deny  that  it  is  a 
very  ugly  mistake  that  hound  made.  I  was  near 
the  keeper,  and  my  trail  must  have  crossed  Ned 
—no,  I  won't,  even  to  save  my  own  life,  bring 
another  into  trouble." 

"  Ned — say'st  thee  ?  Na,  lad,  'twas  Giles  safe 
enough,  Til  up'ode  it ;  dog  isn't  no  fool,  though  he 
be  no  scholar." 

"  I  can't  deny  that  the  dog's  evidence  looks  ugly  ; 
but  who  says  the  dog  chased  me  ?  Why,  old 
George,  the  hedger!  And  why  does  he  say  it? 
' Cause  he  wants  to  get  money  out  o'  me — hush- 
money  !  Folks  won't  believe  it  of  me ;  folks  will 
see  through  you  fast  enough,  old  un." 

"  I  dunno !  I  think  I  can  get  some  more  evidence 
if  I  be  put  to  it  like  j  but  first  I  want  to  know  how 
much  you're  going  to  give  me  to  keep  my  mouth 
shut?" 

"What  do  you  want,  you  bad,  bothering  black- 
guard?" 

"I  want  one  hundred  pounds  down,  Giles  Fletcher; 
I  can  manage  to  borrow  the  rest,  maybe." 

"A  hundred  pounds!  Why,  how  could  I  get 
that  from  mother  without  letting  her  know  why  I 
wanted  it?" 

"That's  not  my  business.  I  must  ha'  the  full 
hundred." 

"  Think,  George  :  I  am  looking  forward  to  getting 
married.  If  I  were  able  to  give  you  all  that  money 


124  VELVETEENS. 

out  of  my  savings,  it  would  stop  my  marriage  for 
years." 

"  That's  not  my  business  ;  you  should  ha'  thought 
on  these  'ere  questions  afore  you  let  fly  at  Maister 
Forbes." 

"  You  liar !  how  dare  you  say  I  shot  him  !  What 
reason  had  I  to  shoot  the  keeper  ? " 

"  Well,  you  can  keep  the  hundred  pound,  but  it's 
my  belief  you'll  get  run  in  for  the  job,  an'  it'll  sarve 
you  right." 

"  Oh  !  it  will  serve  me  right,  will  it  ? " 

Giles's  voice  had  grown  husky.  He  asked  this 
question  in  slow,  measured  tones.  If  there  had  been 
more  light,  George,  the  hedger,  would  have  seen 
a  dangerous  glitter  in  Giles's  eyes ;  but  it  was  too 
dusk,  and  he  went  on  in  beery  innocence— 

"  I've  al'ays  liked  you,  from  a  lad,  Giles  Fletcher  ; 
but  you've  disgraced  yourself  now  and  your  poor 
mother,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  got  took  up 
for  murder  any  day.  What's  a  hundred  pounds  to 
the  likes  o'  you  ?  Say  the  word,  and  I'll  swear  a 
Bible  oath  to  keep  mum  about  it.  You  can  trust 
me,  Giles ;  one  hundred  pounds  shall  buy  a  dead 
silence." 

"  I  can  do  it  cheaper,"  murmured  Giles — "  cheaper 
that  way,  and  more  dependable." 

"What  do  you  say?  I'm  deaf  that  side?  Oh! 
oh!" 

There  was  a  heavy  thud  in  the  region  of  old 
George's  stomach,  which  took  most  of  his  breath 
away ;  he  was  doubled  up,  and  sank  on  the  ground. 

"Say  your  prayers,  you  villain,"  said  Giles,  stoop- 
ing over  him.  "You  force  me  to  do  it.  I  can't 
trust  your  Bible  oath,  you  know ;  but  I  can  trust  a 
dead  silence." 

George  was  utterly  unable  to  speak  ;  all  the  breath 
was  out  of  him,  and  he  gasped  convulsively. 


GILES  .    .   .    PEEPED  OVER  TO  SEE  HOW  OLD  GEORGE   GOT   ON    IN    HIS 

DOWNWARD    FLIGHT.  Page  12$. 


GEORGE   PLAYS   A  TRUMP  CARD.  125 

"  Come  along  with  you,"  said  Giles,  dragging  the 
old  man  by  both  feet  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  But 
when  George  saw  the  sheen  of  the  grey  water  far 
below,  he  clung  desperately  to  the  young  man,  and 
it  became  necessary  to  deal  him  a  smashing  blow 
on  the  head  to  make  him  let  go. 

Then  his  head  fell  back,  and  in  a  moment  he 
had  glided  quietly  over  the  grassy  verge,  and  was 
gone. 

Giles  was  a  lad  of  nerve,  and  he  peeped  over  to 
see  how  old  George  got  on  in  his  downward  flight. 

It  was  a  sandy  cliff,  perpendicular  halfway  down, 
then  came  a  little  jutting  piece  of  damp  clay,  and 
then  another  steep  piece,  and  the  big  flint  boulders 
at  the  base.  Giles  saw  George  come  head  first  on 
the  clay,  turn  a  summersault,  and  take  a  fresh  leap 
for  the  boulders.  He  could  not  see  any  more,  but 
above  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  distant  waves  he 
thought  he  heard  a  rustle  among  the  flints. 


CHAPTER   XVII, 

THE    DEAD   HAND. 

•HEN  the  first  fever  of  excitement  had 
cooled  down,  and  Giles  was  aware  of 
the  terrible  nature  of  his  mad,  impulsive 
act,  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and 
shuddered ;  then  he  knelt  down,  and 
made  excuses  for  himself  to  Heaven.  Did  he  think 
he  could  deceive  the  Almighty  as  he  had  hitherto 
deceived  his  neighbours  ?  But  hark !  the  poor 
fellow  is  praying  now :  he  had  never  meant  to 
commit  a  murder,  he  says. 

"  Lord,  forgive  me !  He  forced  me  to  it,  to  save 
my  own  character.  If  a  man  may  kill  a  thief  who 
robs  his  house,  surely  it  is  not  a  sin  to  put  one 
away  who  tries  to  rob  you  of  your  good  name ! 
But  I  am  sorry ;  yes,  I  am  very  sorry  for  poor 

George " 

Here  he  rose  from  his  knees,  and  looked  wildly 
about  him  through  the  advancing  gloom  ;  the  sense 
of  loneliness  made  his  hair  seem  to  stand  on  end, 
and  he  felt  afraid. 

Presently  he  crept  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  and 
in  a  hoarse  whisper  called  "  George ! " 

There  was  no  sound,  no  voice,  no  moan  save 


THE   DEAD   HAND.  127 

from  the  sea ;  an  uncanny  feeling  made  Giles  turn 
every  now  and  then  to  see  if  George  was  coming 
up  from  behind  to  push  him  over  the  cliff.  He 
could  not  help  feeling  that  George  was  creeping  up 
behind  him,  grinning  at  him  horribly  with  broken 
head  and  bleeding  face.  He  could  feel  some  strange 
power  pushing  him  to  the  very  edge  of  the  crumbling 
cliff. 

Oh!  if  he  did  not  at  once  tear  himself  away, 
George's  spirit  would  have  his  revenge,  and  thrust 
him  over! 

Giles  turned  his  face  towards  the  land,  and  fled 
from  the  cliff,  in  horror  and  remorse,  as  fast  as  he 
could  run. 

But  it  was  now  nearly  dark,  and  he  had  not  gone 
far  before  a  rabbit-hole  tripped  him  up,  and  laid 
him  sprawling  on  his  face,  well-nigh  stunned  by 
the  shock. 

Meanwhile,  Minnie  had  been  sitting  quietly  at 
home,  after  a  pleasant  little  tea  with  Giles's  mother, 
and  she  was  now  reviewing  in  her  mind  all  the  nice 
things  she  had  seen  in  Giles's  house,  while  the 
knitting-needles  made  a  gentle  applause  to  every 
thought,  clapping  their  little  foolish  hands  with 
every  semblance  of  approval. 

There  were  two  parlours,  she  said  to  herself,  on 
the  ground-floor,  fairly  furnished  with  specimens 
out  of  several  suites  of  furniture.  There  were  two 
oak  chairs  with  leather  seats,  splendid  creations  of 
the  last  century  they  were ;  by  the  side  of  these 
antiquities  were  three  cane  chairs,  one  of  them 
with  larger  holes  in  its  bottom  than  the  artist  had 
conceived  them  ;  then  there  was  a  waggonette  of 
mahogany  with  cupboards  that  locked,  a  table  of 
rosewood  too  good  to  eat  upon,  and  a  moth-eaten 
armchair  that  had  been  taken  from  a  wreck,  and 
might  have  belonged  to  the  King  of  Spain,  so  the 


128  VELVETEENS. 

villagers  said,  three  hundred  years  ago.  You  were 
requested  not  to  sit  down  with  a  bump  when  you 
were  seen  backing  in  the  direction  of  King  Philip. 
Poor  old  soul!  he  had  gone  on  three  casters  ever 
since  Minnie  was  a  wee  child.  There  was  a  cabinet 
in  black  oak  with  glass  doors,  containing  treasures 
of  many  generations  :  in  it  were  shells  and  polished 
stones,  a  skull  found  at  low  water  with  a  crab  inside, 
some  marriage  lines  nicely  sewn  on  white  satin, 
coins  of  old  time  and  of  foreign  lands,  scraps  of 
clothes  which  had  belonged  to  ancestors  whom  the 
cruel  sea  had  swallowed  up  in  an  untimely  hour, 
letters  from  the  Squire  and  the  Squire's  father  and 
grandfather, — altogether  a  very  pretty  collection 
of  curiosities.  And  then  the  linen — why,  there 
was  enough  to  start  a  small  hotel  with !  The  very 
recollection  of  the  linen,  soft  and  white  and  thick 
to  the  touch,  made  Minnie's  eyes  glisten  with 
pleasure.  Surely  the  Forbes  family  had  never 
possessed  such  linen  !  No  ;  it  was  becoming  clearer 
day  by  day  to  Minnie  Fletcher  that  her  duty  to  the 
family  demanded  the  sacrifice  of  young  Forbes. 
After  all,  he  was  a  stranger,  and  Giles  was  one  of 
themselves.  Giles  was  a  good,  affectionate  boy  ;  she 
could  surely  turn  him,  and  mould  him,  and  make  a 
good  man  of  him. 

So  Minnie's  thoughts  flew  on,  while  the  knitting- 
needles  clacked  and  seemed  to  cry  Godspeed  to 
Giles  Fletcher.  And  just  at  that  moment  the  door 
quietly  opened,  and  a  white  face  peered  in.  Minnie 
had  heard  no  sound,  but  the  draught  made  the 
candle  gutter  and  smoke,  and  she  turned  towards 
the  door  and  saw  Giles  looking  in. 

The  light  was  dim,  it  was  now  quite  dark  out- 
side, and  Minnie  had  not  observed  the  terror  in 
the  young  man's  eyes. 

"  Come  in,  Giles,  if  you  will,     John  is  painting 


THE   DEAD   HAND.  I2p 

the  boat,  and  Aunt  Bessie  is  away  for  an  hour, 

so  we  can  have Mercy  on  us!  Boy,  what's 

the  matter  ? " 

"  Nothing — nothing !  "  stammered  Giles,  resting 
a  hand  on  the  table,  and  trying  to  smile. 

"  Nothing  ?  Then  why  are  you  out  of  breath  ? 
Why  is  your  collar  torn  and  your  waistcoat  un- 
buttoned ?  Giles  !  you  have  been  after  the  Squire's 
game  again." 

"No,  Minnie  darling.  I  have  promised  you  not 
to  do  that  again,  you  know.  The  fact  is,  I  had 
strolled  into  the  Jolly-boats  to  hear  the  news,  and 
one  of  the  chaps  there  had  been  taking  too  much 
and  got  noisy,  and  I  helped  to  put  him  out.  I 
didn't  know  he  had  torn  my  collar,  though.  Is  it 
much  amiss  ? " 

"  The  button's  gone,  and  you've  no  neck-tie." 

"  Has  my  neck-tie  gone — clean  gone  ? "  said  Giles, 
trying  hard  to  conceal  the  agitation  which  he  felt. 
For  it  struck  him  at  once  that  if  his  neck-tie  was 
found  near  old  George,  he  ran  a  rare  risk  of  being 
hanged. 

Minnie  had  got  out  needle  and  thread,  and 
began  at  once  to  sew  on  a  new  button.  Her  nimble 
fingers  touched  his  throat,  her  sweet  face  was  close 
to  his  ;  but  Giles,  with  ashy  cheeks  and  lack-lustre 
eye,  felt  no  thrill  of  pleasure.  His  heart  was  sick 
and  faint  with  a  deadly  fear. 

Minnie  tried  to  rally  him,  never  suspecting  what 
coward  hue  it  was  that  veiled  the  natural  ruddiness 
of  his  cheek.  When  she  had  finished  her  task,  she 
pinched  his  cheek,  and  said — 

"  There,  foolish  boy ;  that's  done,  and  never  a 
poor  '  Thank  you/  not  a  word,  not  even  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  to  reward  me  for  my  pains.  What  is  it, 
Giles  ?  Are  you  ill  ? " 

"No ;  but  I  have  had  a  fall — running  in  the  dark, 

K 


130  VELVETEENS. 

you  know, — and  I  feel  shaken.  My  dear,  sweet 
Minnie,  I  wish  I  were  more  worthy  to  be  your  lover. 
You  don't  know  how  bad  I  am !  Oh  dear !  oh 
dear!" 

Giles  had  sunk  down  with  a  heavy  sigh,  and 
buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Minnie  did  then  feel  alarm.  Something  serious, 
she  knew,  must  have  happened  to  unman  Giles 
Fletcher. 

"  What  shall  I  get  you,  Giles  ?    You  seem  faint." 

"  Have  you  a  drop  of  brandy  in  the  house  ? " 

"  I  fear  we  haven't ;  but  I  will  run  over  to  the 
Crab  and  get  you  a  little.  Sit  you  down  in  Aunt 
Bessie's  armchair.  I  won't  be  many  minutes  gone." 
»  In  a  trice  Minnie  had  put  her  shawl  over  her 
head  and  tripped  up  the  street.  Giles  lay  back  and 
groaned.  The  fall  had  shaken  him,  but  the  fear 
of  the  hangman  was  clutching  at  his  heart,  and  had 
taken  all  the  power  out  of  his  legs.  He  could  not 
have  left  the  village  that  night,  even  if  his  reso- 
lution had  been  taken  so  to  do ;  he  felt  utterly 
prostrated  by  anxiety  and  craven  fear. 

There  was  a  snick,  the  front-door  latch  went  up. 
Minnie  must  have  been  very  quick.  No,  it  was 
Aunt  Bessie ;  he  could  hear  her  muttering  to  her- 
self. She  came  in,  looking  rather  haggard  and  wild. 

"What!  thou,  Giles  Fletcher!  Thou  here!  Let 
me  see  thee,  lad  ;  let  me  look  thee  full  i'  the  face. 
Ha !  God  ha'  mercy  on  thy  sinful  career ;  it  is  as 
I  knew  it  was." 

"  What's  the  matter,  Aunt  Bessie  ? "  asked  Giles, 
with  staring  eyes ;  "  and  why  do  you  speak  so 
strange  ? " 

"Because  I  have  seen  strange  things  to-night, 
lad.  Where  is  thy  red-and-white  neck-tie  gone  to  ? 
Where  is  it?  Whose  clammy  hand  clutches  it? 
Ha!  ha!  I  thought  I  could  get  thee  out  of  my 


THE  DEAD   HAND.  131 

chair  fast  enough,  lad.  Now,  thou  hast  a  queer 
feeling  about  the  roots  o'  thy  hair,  hasn't  tha'  ? " 

"Aunt  Bessie,"  said  Giles,  with  quivering  lip, 
"for  Heaven's  sake  don't  talk  so  loud,  but  sit  thee 
down  and  tell  me  what  makes  thee  so  wild  to-night, 
—quick,  afore  Minnie  comes  back  ;  and — mind ! 
not  a  word  to  her." 

"  Oh,  if  Minnie  is  coming  in,  let  us  be  gone  at 
once,  for  I  have  sum'mut  to  say  to  thee,  Giles,  and 
very  like  thou  wouldst  not  quite  like  her  to  hear 
every  word  on  it.  We  had  better  go  to  your  mother's 
house :  she  be  not  in  the  kitchen,  as  I  know  ;  for 
I  called  there  just  now." 

It  was  but  a  few  steps  to  Mrs.  Fletcher's  house. 
The  kitchen  was  empty,  save  for  a  black  cat  that  sat 
glaring  into  the  dark  by  the  fire.  The  light  shone 
fitfully  from  the  grate,  and  ever  and  anon  lit  up 
transient  flashes  and  scintillations  from  burnished 
bowl  and  polished  saucer  round  the  darkened  walls, 
while  the  next  moment  all  was  mirk  and  sombre 
and  gloom — all  except  the  large  eyes  of  the  black 
cat,  which  shone  like  two  yellow  night-lights  that 
had  been  left  by  the  fender  and  forgotten. 

"Sit  thee  down,  Giles,  and  bide  quiet  while  I 
speak." 

Aunt  Bessie  poked  the  fire,  and,  when  a  bright 
light  streamed  on  Giles's  pale  face  and  parted  lips, 
she  began  suddenly — 

"Why  didst  thou  push  yonder  old  man  over  the 
cliff?" 

It  was  no  use  for  Giles  to  deny  now ;  she  must 
have  seen  it,  or  she  could  not  have  asked  that 
question:  nevertheless,  his  tongue  clave  to  his  mouth, 
and  he  could  answer  nothing. 

"Tell  me  why  thou  didst  it,  Giles,  or  I  will  go 
straight  to  the  police  and  give  evidence  that  will 
hang  thee." 


132  VELVETEENS. 

"  He  threatened  me ;  I  did  it  in  self-defence. 
He  was  mad  drunk.  I'll  swear  a  solemn  oath  I  had 
no  grudge  against  him  ;  it  was  all  of  a  sudden-like. 
He  was  over  the  edge  and  twirling  round  like  a 
loose  rope  before  I  knew  what  was  up.  But  how 
did  you  see  it  ?  and  what's  that  you  said  just  now 
about  my  neck-tie  and  George's  clammy  hand  ? " 

Aunt  Bessie,  as  she  stood  up,  tall  and  silent  by 
the  fire,  seemed  to  be  lost  in  thought.  The  ticking 
of  the  eight-day  clock  sounded  very  loud  to  Giles,  as 
he  strained  his  attention  and  trembled  and  shivered 
with  anxious  fear. 

"  Giles,  I  might  to-day  have  saved  thee  from  the 
gallows ;  but  I  remembered  thou  used  to  make  fun 
of  me  going  down  to  meet  my  poor  husband  on  the 
stones  yonder,  and  I  never  forget  those  who  sneer 
at  my  hope,  my  only  joy  in  life."  Aunt  Bessie's  eyes 
glowed  like  fire  opposite  to  the  cat's.  "No,  thou 
need  na  make  excuses,  nor  thou  need  na  try  to  get 
up  and  run  down  to  pluck  tha'  neck-tie  from  old 
George's  grasp.  It's  too  late,  I  tell  thee." 

Giles  fell  back  with  a  groan. 

"  It's  too  late  for  that  now.  This  is  how  it  was, 
lad.  I  was  coming  home  under  the  cliff,  when  I 
see  a  bundle  of  clothes  on  the  stones  above  high- 
water  mark.  I  goes  up,  and  finds  it  look  like  a 
man  bunched  up  all  of  a  heap.  '  Who's  yon/  I  says, 
'as  has  fallen  over  the  cliff?'  So  I  takes  out  my 
matchbox,  and  strikes  a  match — out  goes  the  match 
in  the  wind  ;  this  time,  thinks  I,  we'll  be  more 
careful  with  our  matches,  so  I  goes  to  windward  and 
spreads  out  my  dress  a  little — like  this — and  stoops 
to  light  my  second  match.  It  was  old  George,  sure 
enough ;  his  eyes  open,  but  I  reckon  he  didn't  see 
me.  When  I  lifted  him  a  bit,  his  head  fell  over 
sideways,  as  if  his  neck-bone  had  been  drawn  out, 
poor  fellow.  Well,  Giles,  I  didn't  turn  at  the  sight 


THE  DEAD  HAND.  133 

o'  the  dead  man ;  for  I've  seen  too  many  in  my 
time,  some  hardly  knowable,  what  with  limpets  and 
crabs  and  seaweed,  and  their  faces  cut  about  with 
the  cruel  banging  against  the  flints  at  the  bottom. 
Ah !  and  they  want  me  to  think  and  believe  that 
my  darling  is  like  one  of  those !  Do  you  want  to 
make  me  an  unbeliever,  Giles  Fletcher  ?  Well,  I 
should  be  if  I  could  think  God  would  be  so  cruel  as 
to  let  me  get  made  a  wife  in  the  morn  and  a  widow 
in  the  afternoon.  No,  no !  My  darling  is  what  he 
shows  himself  in  my  dreams,  and  I  thank  God  that 
he  keeps  me  in  mind  of  what  he  looked  like.  Let 
me  see  ;  where  was  I,  Giles,  where  was  I  ? " 

"  You  had  lit  the  second  match  and  seen  George's 
face." 

"  No,  that  wasn't  it ;  there  was  something  else  in 
my  mind,  which  has  clean  gone.  I  can't  get  hold 
of  it,  nohow ;  it  dodges  me  like  the  shadow  of  a 
cloud  on  the  sea,  and  hides  behind  the  memory  of 
my  dear,  lost  husband." 

"You  said  the  sight  didn't  make  you  turn  queer." 

"  Ah !  that  was  it ;  now  I  have  it  again :  there 
was  something  else,  though,  which  gave  me  a  fine 
start,  and  I  lit  a  third  match  to  make  sure.  Oh, 
Giles,  when  I  saw  thy  neck-tie  gripped  in  the  dead 
hand,  I  turned  to  stone.  '  And  is  it  come  to  this  ? ' 
I  said  ;  '  has  Giles  Fletcher  done  to  death  this 
poor  old  man  ?  Giles  Fletcher,  that  used  to  run 
and  kiss  me  with  his  innocent  baby  lips  ?  Giles 
Fletcher,  that  seemed  the  pride  of  all  our  kin? 
Giles  Fletcher,  that  Minnie  loves  too  well?" 

Giles  groaned,  and  bit  his  lip,  then  faltered 
out — 

"You  didn't  leave  that  neck-tie  yonder,  Aunt 
Bessie?" 

"  Why  should  I  bring  it  away,  Giles  ?  Thou 
hast  mocked  me  these  five  years  and  more,  and  now 


134  VELVETEENS. 

it  is  my  turn  to  mock  thee,  thou  sinful,  godless  lad. 
Nay,  struggle  not  to  leave  thy  seat.  What,  thou 
wilt?" 

"  I  must  go  and  get  my  neck-tie,  I  tell  you." 

41  Then  go,  Giles  Fletcher ;  go,  and  run  into  the 
arms  of  the  policeman,  if  thou  art  fool  enough." 

"  Then  what  am  I  to  do  ?  Oh,  have  some  mercy 
on  me ! " 

"  What  mercy  hadst  thou  on  poor  George  ?  Thou 
hast  given  way  to  temptation,  and  shalt  have  thy 
reward.  Know  now,  Giles,  that  one  sin  leads  to 
another.  No  man  can  commit  an  only  sin  and  say, 
'  There  I  stop ! '  The  devil  will  hook  that  man  by 

the  nose,  and  lead  him  on  and  on  till Who's 

that  coming  ?  See,  they  are  running  into  the  town 
end  ;  they  have  found  the  body,  like  enough.  Go 
thou  and  mix  quietly  with  the  throng,  as  if  thy 
heart  was  as  innocent  as  it  was  ten  year  back." 

"  But  that  neck-tie  ? " 

"  Am  I  not  a  Fletcher,  too  ?  No,  lad,  I  was  not 
going  to  let  thee  swing  for  it.  I  have  ta'en  it  from 
the  dead  fingers,  and  hidden  it  away,  safe.  Go,  lad." 

"Aunt  Bessie,  you  have  saved  my  life." 

"  Thy  life  ?  maybe  I  have ;  but  thy  soul  ?  no ! 
It's  only  thyself  can  save  that,  along  wi'  thou 
knowest  who.  Lad,  thy  life  is  a  sorry,  short  span  ; 
but  thy  soul's  life — how  long  shall  that  be  ?  and 
which  is  most  worth  saving  ? " 

"Aunt  Bessie,  you  shall  see  me  a  changed  man 
from  this  night.  I  have  had  a  terrible  lesson.  I 
will  turn  over  a  new  leaf — see  if  I  don't." 

"  God  help  thee,  my  poor  lad  !  God  help  thee ! 
Now  go." 

As  Giles  mingled  with  the  throng  of  gaping 
villagers,  Aunt  Bessie  drew  from  her  pocket  the 
neck-tie,  muttering  to  herself  as  she  folded  it  up 
in  some  soft  paper — 


THE   DEAD   HAND. 


135 


"Poor  lad,  it  may  have  been  an  accident — not 
meant,  I  should  say ;  and  he  was  finely  distressed. 
I  was  right  to  give  him  a  fright,  though,  and  I  will 
keep  this  bit  o'  stuff  to  hold  him  to  his  purpose. 
But  who  comes  here  ?  Well,  if  it  isn't  Minnie ! " 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 


A  FIT  OF  REMORSE. 

INNIE  peeped  in,  and  cried  softly,  "  Is 
any  one  there  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;    but   what    are    all    the   folk 
running  yonder  for  ?  " 

"Oh!  is  that  you,  Aunt  Bessie? 
Something  has  happened ;  somebody  has  fallen 
over  the  cliff,  and  they  have  taken  his  body  to  the 
lifeboat  house." 

"  Dear  me  !  and  what  brings  you  here  ? " 
"  I  came  to  see  if — if  Giles  had  come  here.    I  left 
him  in  our  house  looking  faint  and  ill ;  then,  when 
I    went   out   to    get    him   some   brandy,  he   went 
away." 

"What  had  made  him  ill,  Minnie?" 
A  bad   fall   be  had,  running  in  the  dark.     But 
where    can     he   be  ?    I    feel    quite   puzzled    about 
him." 

"I  wish  you  wouldn't  trouble  your  head  about 
him,  Minnie.  You  can  do  better  than  marry  Giles. 
Mark  my  words,  if  you  become  the  wife  of  Giles 
Fletcher,  you  will  bitterly  repent  it.  That's  my  piece 
of  advice,  and  I  shouldn't  say  it  if  I  didn't  think  it 
ought  to  be  said." 


A   FIT  OF   REMORSE.  137 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  thank  you ;  but  I  don't 
feel  like  it.  I  think  that  every  girl  knows  her  own 
duty  best,  and,  if  she  makes  a  mistake,  she  has  only 
herself  to  blame." 

"You  are  as  obstinate  as  a  Norfolk  donkey, 
Minnie  ;  and  that's  saying  a  good  deal." 

"  Then,  if  you  knew  I  was  like  that,  why  did  you 
offer  your  bit  of  advice  ?  I  mean  to  marry  Giles 
now,  just  to  spite  you.  I  shall  marry  him  and  be 
happy  in  spite  of  you." 

"Don't  be  too  sure,  Miss  Minnie  Fletcher.  I 
can  stop  your  wedding  by  holding  up  a  finger  if 
I  like." 

"  Pooh !  one  would  think  you  were  a  witch,  to 
hear  you  talk." 

"You  are  mocking  me  about  my  lost  darling, 
now ;  and  that  is  an  insult  I  will  never  endure.  I 
shall  go  home,  and  I  advise  you  to  stay  here  till 
Giles  or  his  mother  comes  back.  You  can  then 
propose  to  get  married  at  once,  if  your  frock  is 
ready,  you  know." 

Aunt  Bessie  sailed  out  of  the  room  with  this 
parting  shot,  while  Minnie  sank  into  the  armchair. 

She  began  to  feel  very  miserable  now  that  she 
was  alone.  She  was  uneasy  about  Giles  to-night, 
and  his  manner  had  been  very  unnatural.  Either 
he  had  been  drinking,  or  some  serious  trouble  had 
shaken  his  nerve. 

But  what  business  had  folk  to  come  shaking 
their  heads  and  offering  their  cheap  wisdom  to  her 
about  marriage  ?  She  had  strong  views  about  freedom 
of  choice,  had  Minnie.  It  was  a  piece  of  imperti- 
nence in  Aunt  Bessie,  who  had  had  barely  three 
hours'  experience  of  married  life,  to  dictate  to  her 
whom  she  should  love  and  whom  she  should  avoid. 
"Any  girl  who  respects  herself,"  said  Minnie,  fixing 
her  large,  lustrous  eyes  upon  the  crumbling  fire, 


138  VELVETEENS. 

"  any  girl  in  my  position  would  obey  her  own  heart." 
Wilful  ?  not  a  bit  of  it !  At  her  age  she  had  a 
right  to  choose  for  herself.  As  thus  she  fortified 
her  desires  by  argument,  Mrs.  Fletcher,  Giles's 
mother,  entered  the  cottage. 

A  fine,  buxom  woman  she  was,  possessing  the 
fine  hair  and  eyes  of  the  Fletcher  family — for  she 
had  been  born  a  Fletcher  herself, — and  endowed 
with  a  deep-toned  voice.  Minnie  rose  to  greet  her, 
saying — 

"  I  came  in  here  a  while  ago,  Mrs.  Fletcher,  and 
thought  I  would  stay  till  you  came  back." 

"  Have  you  not  heard  the  news  ?  Old  George,  the 
hedger,  has  gone  and  fallen  over  the  cliff  and 
killed  hisself." 

"  Old  George,  is  it  ?  I  heard  some  one  had  hap- 
pened with  an  accident,  but  didn't  know  who.  Old 
George  ?  then  I'll  warrant  he  had  been  drinking 
hard.  But  where  is  your  son  ? " 

"I  met  him  in  the  town  a  while  ago,  going  to 
see  the  body." 

"Ha!"  said  Minnie,  with  a  little  toss  of  her 
head,  "  I  don't  call  that  manners  to  go  away  like 
that." 

"What  has  Giles  done  now,  I  wonder?  Surely 
you  don't  go  for  to  blame  him  because  he  has  run 
with  the  rest  to  see  the  last  of  poor  George  !  You're 
too  exacting,  Minnie  Fletcher." 

"  Perhaps  I  am ;  but  when  a  lad  comes  in, 
fainting  almost,  and  cries  for  a  drop  o'  brandy,  and 
you  run  down  the  street  to  fetch  him  a  glass,  and 
when  you  get  in  you  find  he  has  gone  gaping  and 
gorming  with  the  rest  of  'em — well,  I  don't  call 
that  manners.  I  don't  know  whether  you  do  ? " 

Mrs.  Fletcher  sat  listening  open-mouthed — Giles 
had  run  in,  almost  fainting,  just  after  that  cliff 
business !  That  made  the  thoughts  trot  through  her 


A   FIT   OF   REMORSE.  139 

brain  so  fast,  made  them  jostle  so  confusedly  with 
remembered  words  and  deeds  in  Giles's  recent  life- 
history,  and  call  up  such  terrible,  dark  suspicions, 
that  she  could  find  no  words. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Minnie,  "the  thought  of  an  old 
drunkard  falling  over  the  cliff  makes  you  forget  your 
son's  illness.  That  he  was  ill,  I  am  certain  ;  and,  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  feared  he  had  been  giving  the 
keepers  a  chase.  But  he  told  me  it  was  not  so — 
he  had  had  a  fall  when  running.  Now,  Giles  has 
never  told  me  a  lie  yet,"  concluded  Minnie,  "and  I 
think  I  know  an  honest  face  when  I  see  one." 

Mrs.  Fletcher  quietly  wished  she  could  have  said 
the  same,  and  merely  remarked— 

"Lor',  Minnie,  you  make  out  Giles  to  be  faint 
and  ill ;  why,  I  should  be  real  scared  if  I  had  not 
seen  him  just  now  looking  as  hearty  as  ever  I  saw 
him." 

"  Then  I  shall  trouble  you  to  pay  for  the  brandy, 
Mrs.  Fletcher,"  said  Minnie,  with  a  laugh  ;  "perhaps 
you'll  keep  it  against  the  next  time  Giles  feel 
faint." 

Just  then  Giles  returned,  and  Minnie  began  at 
once — 

"You're  a  nice  sort  of  young  man — you  are!  I 
left  you  next  door  to  a  dead  faint,  and  when  I  came 
home  you  had  gone  out  to  see  all  the  sights." 

"Don't  talk  like  that,  Minnie,"  said  Giles,  in  a 
low  tone.  "  Poor  old  George  has  thrown  himself  off 
the  cliff,  and  I've  just  seen  him  lying  as  peaceful  as 
a  child.  Hang  me,  if  I  didn't  feel  sorry  when  I  saw 
him  like  that !  Death  makes  one  stop  a  bit,  and 
think  on  what  life  is,  and  what  we're  here  for.  I 
don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Minnie." 

Minnie  made  no  reply,  but  Giles  had  touched  her 
heart  by  this  unexpected  note  of  sentiment.  "After 
all,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  has  the  making  of  a 


140  VELVETEENS. 

good  man  in  him  ;  and  as  for  his  finding  fault  with 
me,  why,  I  thoroughly  deserved  it,  and  he  has  every 
right  to  preach  to  me." 

"What  did  folks  say?"  asked  Mrs.  Fletcher. 
"  Did  they  think  he  had  done  it  himself  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  there  was  no  doubt  on  it.  I  myself  saw 
him  drunk  at  the  Jolly-boats,  and  he  went  out  reeling 
all  over,  like  a  smack  with  too  much  sail  on.'1 

"  Poor  George !  his  old  woman  will  miss  him 
sadly.  She  have  lost  all  her  boys  now,  and  her  old 
man  went  to-day.  What  will  she  do,  Giles  ? " 

"Well,  mother,  if  you're  agreeable,  I'll  help  her  a 
bit  off  and  on.  George  and  I  have  been  old  chums 
ever  so  long." 

Mrs.  Fletcher  had  by  this  time  lit  the  lamp  and 
put  it  down  on  the  table,  and  Minnie  looked  up 
admiringly  into  Giles's  eyes,  which  just  now  were 
softened  with  the  tear  of  sympathy.  He  did,  indeed, 
look  the  picture  of  a  noble  lad,  and  she  made  ready 
to  worship  the  image  which  his  remorse  and  senti- 
ment had  set  up. 

"Leastways,"  said  Giles,  "if  Minnie  does  not 
object ;  for  I  hope  we  may  count  her  almost  as  one 
of  ourselves." 

"Get  along  with  you,  do,"  said  Minnie,  as  Giles 
pretended  to  put  his  arm  round  her  waist ;  Mrs. 
Fletcher  saying — 

"Ah,  Minnie,  I  should  like  nothing  better.  You 
know  that." 

"Some  folk  would  growl,  though,  if  I  said 
'  Yes.'" 

Giles  had  by  this  time  clasped  her  hand  in  his. 
She  did  not  draw  it  away  ;  and  Mrs.  Fletcher  thought 
it  prudent  to  go  apart,  and  rattle  the  cups  in  the 
back  kitchen. 

Minnie's  hand  felt  soft  and  warm  as  it  nestled  in 
the  nervous  grasp  of  the  hand  that  had  so  lately 


A  FIT   OF   REMORSE.  14! 

dragged  an  old  chum  to  the  cliff  edge.  Giles  sat 
still  and  enjoyed  the  sensation  for  a  few  minutes. 

This,  he  felt,  was  better  work  than  that  other. 
He  began  to  wish  his  hands  had  been  cleaner,  his 
conscience  less  uneasy.  Minnie  seemed  to  him  like 
an  angel  of  innocence,  calling  him  away  from  the 
evil  courses  of  his  youth.  How  much  pleasanter, 
after  all,  would  be  a  life  of  respectability  with 
Minnie  !  There  would  be  less  adventure,  no  doubt ; 
but  no  more  prickings  of  conscience,  no  more  panics 
and  dread  of  justice.  He  had  had  a  taste  of  hell 
in  this  last  hour,  which  he  would  fain  forget  in  a 
new  life. 

There  was  still  a  good  deal  of  selfishness  in 
Giles's  highest  aspirations  ;  he  was  still  seeking  for 
what  would  be  best  and  most  pleasant  to  himself. 
He  did  not  hate  the  sin  he  had  done  ;  he  only  hated 
the  disagreeable  consequences,  and  feared  the  penalty 
that  might  follow. 

To  be  sure,  he  had  never  intended  to  murder 
poor  George.  George  had  forced  him  to  it,  he  kept 
on  saying  to  himself ;  yes,  he  had  forced  him  to  it — 
there  was  no  doubt  of  that. 

"Well,  silly  boy,  what  are  you  thinking  of,  that 
you  can't  say  a  word  to  me?"  asked  Minnie  at 
last. 

"  Oh,  Minnie !  I  have  been  turning  over  in  my 
mind  all  the  bad  things  I  have  done.  The  sight  of 
George  has  made  me  take  stock,  as  you  may  say. 
I  find  I  am  badly  on  the  wrong  side  ;  but  I  can't 
pay  up  unless  I  have  time.  I  want  somebody  to 
back  me  up  or  I  shall  go  regular  broke,  and  the  devil 
will  wind  up  my  affairs." 

"  Lor,'  lad,  how  you  do  talk !  I  suppose  you're 
a  bit  ashamed  of  your  naughty  ways,  and  try  to 
cover  it  up  with  a  parable  ? " 

"That's  it,  sweetheart,  that's  it!    I  am  terrible 


142  VELVETEENS. 

sorry  and  shamed  of  the  disgrace  I  have  been  to 
my  friends.  I'd  give  anything  to  be  able  to  lead 
a  new  life.  What's  that  noise  ? " 

"Only  your  mother  putting  things  tidy  yonder. 
How  scared  and  nervous  you  are  to-night ! " 

"Yes,  I've  had  a  call,  I  think.  I  wonder  if  this 
is  how  folk  feel  when  they're  going  to  get  con- 
verted ? " 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  wish  you  were  always  like  this  ; 
always  as  sober  and  Godfearing,  then  I  should  have 
no  fears.  Giles,  I  expect  you  never  were  nearer 
heaven  than  you  are  to-night." 

Giles  shuddered.  Minnie's  last  remark  shocked 
him  so  much  that  he  actually  shivered  with 
terror. 

"  Why,  bless  me,  you're  all  of  a  tremble,  now ! 
Sure,  you  haven't  caught  a  cold,  or  a  fever,  or  some- 
thing ? " 

"  No,  sweet  lass,  I  have  no  sickness  except  what 
you  can  cure." 

Minnie  smiled,  and  shook  her  head,  saying,  "Ah! 
if  I  could  cure  you,  I  would  ;  but  what  if,  instead  of 
curing  you,  I  learnt  from  you  to  do  wrong  ? " 

"  I  should  deserve  everlasting  torment  if  I  made 
you  worse  by  living  with  you.  Minnie,  my  darling, 
I  worship  you ;  I  look  up  to  you  as  I  would  to  an 
angel.  When  I  am  with  you  I  feel  a  better  lad,  I 
begin  to  desire  to  do  what  is  right.  Oh,  Minnie ! 
when  will  you  let  me  call  you  my  own  dear  wife  ? 
When  will  you  return  my  love  ?  " 

Minnie  turned  her  face  away,  and  a  shining  tear 
slid  down  her  cheek.  She  was  pitying  Giles  now ; 
she  had  loved  him  for  many  a  month,  in  spite  of 
her  better  reason. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her,  and  drew  her  gently  to 
him  ;  but  the  thought  of  the  innocent  girl  yielding 
to  his  love  with  such  trustfulness  made  him  feel 


A  FIT   OF  REMORSE.  143 

more    keenly  than   before   how    utterly    unworthy 

he  was  to  have  the  keeping  of  so  bright  a  jewel. 
Shortly   afterwards,    Mrs.    Fletcher   entered    the 

room,  and,  laughing,  said— 

"  Oh,  dear  me !   and  when  is  it  to  be  ? " 

"Next    month,    mother,"   replied    Giles,    with    a 

radiant  face  and  triumphant  tone. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

THE   STRANGER. 

HREE  weeks  or  more  had  gone  by,  and 
the   spring  had  come,  with   cold   airs 
from  the  east  and   hot   sunshine   and 
cloudless  skies.    The  larks  were  singing 
in  the  blue,  the  wind  grew  more  mellow, 
the  gorse  sprang  into  bloom,  the  blue  heart'sease 
nestled  in  the  grass  ;  all  Nature  seemed  full  of  song 
and  thanksgiving  and  gladsome  activity. 

But  events  were  not  falling  out  kindly  for  the 
simple  folk  of  Upper  Beckthorp.  A  calamity  had 
come  with  the  blustering  winds  of  spring — a  calamity 
founded  in  the  sinfulness  of  human  nature,  not  in 
the  recklessness  of  Nature's  grinding  laws. 

Jean  Forbes  was  in  her  little  garden,  not  sowing 
peas  and  spinach,  as  had  been  her  wont,  but  list- 
lessly raking  the  weeds  and  tidying  up  the  beds 
with  many  a  sigh.    As  she  raked,  she  was  aware 
of  a  stranger  leaning  over  the  gate,  and  watching 
her ;  but  still  she  never  lifted  her  eyes.    Her  heart 
was  very  full,  and  she  did  not  want  to  talk. 
"Good  morning,  miss." 
"Good  morning,  sir." 
Jean  looked  up,   and   saw  a  strong-built  man, 


THE   STRANGER.  145 

dressed  in  a  grey  suit,  lifting  his  hat  to  her.    She 
came  forward  a  pace  or  two. 

"  Can  I  help  you,  sir  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  think  you  can,  miss.  Does  Mr.  Forbes 
live  here  ? " 

"Yes,  at  present  he  does,"  replied  Jean,  with  a 
sigh. 

"Oh,  excuse  me  for  seeming  curious,  but  the  fact 
is,  that  I  have  not  been  in  these  parts  for  some 
time,  and  I  am  rather  at  sea,  and  bothered  what 
to  do  about  my  friends  here." 

A  look  of  sadness  came  into  the  man's  honest 
face,  which  quite  melted  away  all  Jean's  Scotch 
reserve. 

"Anything  I  can  do  to  help  you,  sir,  I  will  gladly 
do." 

"Come,  that's  spoken  out  frankly!  Be  you  Mr. 
Forbes's  daughter  grown-up  ?  Well,  I  never !  Why, 
I've  seen  you  often  playing  at  the  beck  when  you 
were  a  little  girl." 

Jean  smiled,  and  tried  to  guess  who  the  stranger 
could  be.  "  Come  in,  sir,  and  sit  down.  Mr.  Forbes 
will  be  in  soon." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  have  walked  a  goodish  bit  this 
morning,  and  I  feel  a  bit  tired.  I  am  more  used 
to  riding  than  walking.  What's  this  ?  oat-cake,  as 
I'm  alive!  Thank  you,  Miss  Forbes." 

Jean  set  before  her  guest  a  glass  of  milk,  taking 
note  of  such  facts  as  met  her  eye :  age  about  forty 
or  forty-five  ;  hands  large  but  clean  ;  a  gold  watch- 
chain  and  ring  ;  clothes — a  well-fitting  suit  of 
tweed.  She  was  puzzled  ;  he  was  not  a  gentle- 
man quite,  by  his  speech  and  look,  but  he  was 
evidently  well-to-do.  He  ate  a  while  in  silence, 
then  asked — 

"You  said  Mr.  Forbes  lived  here  at  present. 
Is  he  going,  then  ? " 

L 


146  VELVETEENS. 

"Ah,  sir,  you  may  not  have  heard  the  heavy  loss 
we  have  met  with  in  the  death  of  the  Squire." 

"No,  indeed  ;  I  have  only  just  returned  to  Eng- 
land." 

"  He  was  so  good  to  the  folk,  and  always  thought 
how  he  could  bring  prosperity  and  happiness  to 
others.  We  never  knew  what  he  was  worth,  till 
we  lost  him." 

"Aye,   that's  often   the   case.     I  wonder  if— 
But  no ;   I  beg  your  pardon,  miss.     Tell  me  some 
more  about  the  place." 

"  Mr.  Aubrey  has  come  into  the  estate — a  very 
different  sort  of  person  from  his  father,  fond  of  fast 
company  and  racing ;  and  they  do  say  that  he 
gambles,  and  is  already  heavily  in  debt." 

The  stranger  whistled  a  low,  long  note,  and  looked 
at  his  boots. 

"  Unfortunately,  sir,  he  has  a  grudge  against  Mr. 
Forbes,  and  we  have  notice  to  leave  very  shortly." 
Jean  wiped  a  tear  from  the  corner  of  her  eye. 

"  I  reckon  you  like  this  place,  the  beck  where 
you've  played,  and  the  folk  you  know  so  well." 

"Yes  ;  it  is  like  pulling  you  up  by  the  roots.  It 
is  hard  to  be  turned  away  for  no  fault,  too.  How- 
ever, there's  many  more  shall  feel  the  pinch  as 
well  as  we,  so  I  must  not  be  selfish  over  it.  And, 
perhaps,  when  we're  gone,  others  will  get  their 
turn  ;  for  they  say  the  new  Squire  is  going  to  keep 
racing  horses,  and  he  is  to  build  a  lot  of  new  stable  s. 
He  has  given  notice  to  the  village  club  that  he 
shall  want  their  premises,  so  I  expect  there  won't 
be  any  club  after  this.  'Tis  a  pity,  for  it  kept 
many  a  man  from  the  drink." 

"  The  whole  village  is  going  to  the  bad,  it  seems, 
through  the  folly  of  one  man.  What  does  the  parson 
say  about  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  is  very  indignant,  and  has  done  his  best 


THE   STRANGER.  147 

to  turn  Mr.  Aubrey  from  his  purpose  ;  but,  faith ! 
you  might  as  well  expect  to  get  water  out  of  a 
well  by  tickling  the  pump  handle." 

"  There's  one  thing,  Miss  Forbes — that  young  fool 
will  be  bust  out,  and  sold  up,  in  less  than  fifteen 
years  ;  but,  meanwhile,  you  and  many  others  will 
have  gone  to  the  wall.  Well,  in  our  parts  they  say 
sometimes,  '  The  old  country  is  played  out.'  You'll 
have  to  learn  something  from  us  yet,  I  reckon,  if 
you  want  to  keep  on  an  even  keel.  It's  these  old 
feudal  notions  that  will  lead  to  cutting  of  throats 
by-and-by  ;  for  a  Squire  is  a  mighty  engine  for  good, 
if  he  be  a  good  one— 

"  Yes,  sir,  that  he  is,"  said  Jean,  with  glistening 
eye. 

"  But  if  he  be  a  bad  man,  he  can  do  almost  any 
wrong  he  likes  ;  no  one  dare  say  to  him,  '  Bail  up  ! ' ' 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Jean,  a  little  puzzled.  Then, 
seeing  her  brother  coming  over  the  plank  bridge, 
"  Here's  Mr.  Forbes  coming." 

The  stranger  glanced  at  Angus  a  moment,  and 
said  hurriedly— 

"  No ;  that's  not  the  man  anyhow." 

"Angus,  here  is  a  gentleman  who  knows  you.'1 

"Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  am  sorry  I  forget  your 
face  just  now." 

"  There  must  be  some  mistake ;  the  man  I  knew 
was  older  than  you  by  thirty  years  or  so." 

"  Ah  !  you  mean  my  father  ?    He's  dead,  sir." 

"  Your  father !  How  time  goes,  to  be  sure  !  But 
he  was  a  strong,  well  set  up  man  ;  I  should  have 
thought  he  would  have  lasted  longer  than  that." 

"  So  he  would,  if  they  would  have  given  him  fair 
play.  My  father  was  shot  by  poachers  from 
behind." 

"  Well,  I  am  taken  aback  !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr. 
Forbes,  for  bringing  up  old  troubles.  I  am  real 


148  VELVETEENS. 

sorry  to  hear  it.  Shot !  and  in  this  civilized,  Chris- 
tian England !  Why,  we  don't  often  do  things  like 
that  out  in  the  bush  !  " 

"  Are  you  living  in  Australia,  sir  ? "     . 

"  Yes ;  I  have  been  there  the  last  year.  A  fine 
country.  But  I  am  keeping  you.  I  am  bound  for 
Nether  Beckthorp." 

"  Come  in,  and  take  a  bit  of  bread  and  cheese 
with  us,  if  you  will.  I  want  to  hear  something 
about  Australia  very  much." 

The  stranger  accepted  the  invitation,  and,  during 
the  meal,  gave  Angus  a  good  deal  of  information 
about  the  sort  of  life  they  lived  out  in  the  bush. 
At  last  he  said— 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Forbes.  I'll  make  you  an  offer 
fair  and  square.  I  want  a  good,  honest  fellow  to 
help  me  in  stock  driving.  I'll  take  you  and  your 
sister  over  free  of  expense,  and  give  you  such  a 
share  in  the  run  as  shall  enable  you  to  save  money 
for  your  old  age.  " 

"  Well,  now  ;  that's  very  kind  in  you,  being,  as  you 
are,  quite  a  stranger." 

The  Scotch  caution  was  evident  enough  in  the 
tone  of  the  keeper's  voice,  and  the  Australian  at 
once  broke  in  with  a  laugh — 

"  Ah !  a  pig  in  a  poke,  I  see.  But,  if  you  will 
allow  me  to  say  so,  I  am  no  stranger  at  all,  but  a 
Norfolk  man,  born  and  bred  in  these  parts.  I  see 
you  wondering  and  inquiring.  I  must  tell  you  some- 
thing about  myself,  if  you  are  to  trust  your  fortunes 
to  my  word  ;  of  course,  that's  only  right." 

"  Quite  so,"  replied  Angus  ;  "  Australia  is  a  long 
way  off,  and  we  must  know  something  of  one  another 
before  we  strike  a  bargain." 

"My  story  will  sound  a  little  like  a  tale  in  a 
bopk,  but  I  will  begin  by  laying  down  my  nuggets. 
Here's  my  letters  of  introduction." 


THE   STRANGER.  149 

The  Australian  pulled  from  his  breast  pocket  a 
bulky  pocket-book,  from  which  he  took  a  handful 
of  bank-notes,  and  some  gold,  and  spread  them  out 
round  his  plate,  smoothing  the  notes  out  carefully. 

Angus  and  Jean  exchanged  looks,  and  smiled. 

"  This  is  my  first  letter  of  introduction,  sir ;  for 
further  particulars  I  refer  you  to  my  temporary- 
bankers  in  London.  Here's  their  card,  which  I  will 
ask  you  to  keep." 

"  Yes  ;  it's  all  right,"  said  Angus :  "  but  please 
take  up  the  coins  and  notes,  or  little  Willie  will  be 
playing  chuck-farthing  with  them." 

"  Well,  my  friends,  now  you  have  seen  a  specimen 
of  my  nuggets,  I  will  tell  you  that  when  I  left 
England  I  had  only  a  few  pounds  in  my  pocket. 
You  will  think  I  must  have  worked  hard  to  buy  a 
run — a  sheep-run  in  the  bush  costs  a  many  thou- 
sand pounds,  you  know.  Well,  this  was  how  it  turned 
out.  On  the  ship  out  was  an  elderly  man,  whom 
I  got  to  know  well ;  it  was  a  sailing  ship,  and  he 
was  taking  the  voyage  for  his  health,  you  see.  Off 
the  north  coast  of  Australia  we  fell  in  with  a  storm 
which  drove  us  miles  away  out  of  our  course,  and 
at  last  stranded  us  on  a  bleak  island  not  far  from 
New  Guinea.  The  ship  broke  up,  and  there  we 
were — fast  by  the  heels.  No  vessels  passed  our 
way,  we  had  only  a  small  boat  left  to  do  coasting 
voyages  with.  Most  of  the  crew  were  drowned.  I 
got  the  Australian  gentleman  on  to  a  spar,  and  so 
safe  ashore.  There  were  four  others  saved  with  us/ 

"  Had  you  any  food  along  with  you  ? " 

"Well,  yes.  As  the  ship  broke  up,  there  came 
casks  and  that  sort,  mostly  damaged  by  the  salt 
water ;  but  it  served  us  while  we  looked  about  us. 
Very  hot  it  was,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  we  had  soon 
to  fend  for  ourselves,  fishing  and  bird-catching,  and 
grubbing  for  roots  and  such-Hke.  Then  we  met  some 


ISO  VELVETEENS. 

natives,  who  gave  us  some  corn,  so  we  knew  we 
were  safe  for  next  year.  How  long  were  we  there  ? 
Close  upon  thirteen  year,  and  mighty  glad  when  a 
schooner  put  in  to  look  for  water.  The  old  gentle- 
man had  aged  very  much  with  the  hard  living  and 
bad  fare,  though  I  had  shielded  him  as  well  as  I 
could.  He  bribed  the  captain  to  take  us  to  Mel- 
bourne, and  then,  after  giving  our  mates  on  the 
island  a  handsome  present,  he  took  me  up  country 
to  his  run.  I  stayed  with  him  till  he  died,  and  on 
his  deathbed  he  gave  me  a  paper.  It  was  his  will. 
He  had  left  me  a  partner  in  the  run,  to  take  half 
the  profits ! 

"I  stayed  on  a  few  months,  and  then  I  couldn't 
wait  any  longer.  You  see,  all  that  time  on  the 
island  I  could  not  send  word  to  my  people  at  home  ; 
and  after  fifteen  years  had  gone,  I  was  afraid  to 
write  to  my  wife,  lest  she  should  have  taken  another 
husband.  So  I  determined  to  come  over  quietly, 
unbeknown,  and  see  for  myself.  I  have  been  to  my 
brother's  farm,  and  find  he  is  dead,  and  the  place 
has  changed  hands,  and  now  I  have  come  on  a  more 
delicate  business.  If  she's  dead,  please  don't  tell 
me  straight  out.  If  she's  got  married  again,  only  let 
me  know  before  I  leave  the  lodge,  and  I'll  slip  off 
quietly  back  to  London  again.  Poor  Bess,  I  would 
not  give  her  pain." 

"  Not  Bessie  Fletcher,  surely ! "  cried  Jean, 
excitedly. 

"Yes,  that's  the  name.  I  was  carried  out  to  sea 
on  the  very  day  I  married  her,  and  picked  up  by 
a  vessel  from  Hull.  Excuse  me,"  he  suddenly 
interrupted  himself,  and,  rising,  went  to  look  out 
of  the  door,  wiping  his  forehead  with  his  handker- 
chief, and  leaning  against  the  door-post. 

"Jean,  go  and  put  him  out  of  his  misery,"  Said 
Angus. 


THE   STRANGER.  151 

Jean  followed  him,  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  She  is  alive,  and  she  has  not  married  again." 

"  Thank  the  Lord  for  His  great  kindness  to  me  !  " 
murmured  the  Australian,  and  pressed  Jean's  hand 
warmly. 

"But — but Jean  hesitated  to  go  on. 

"Ah!  there  is  something  I  ought  to  hear?  Come 
and  tell  me  in  the  garden.  I  can  bear  it  better 
there." 

There  was  a  rustic  seat  at  the  end  of  the  garden 
under  an  evergreen  ;  here  they  sat  and  talked  about 
Aunt  Bessie. 

"  When  you  were  lost,  everybody  believed  you 
had  been  drowned,  except  your  wife ;  she  stuck  to 
it  that  you  would  come  back." 

"  Did  she  ?    God  bless  her !  " 

"  Time  went  on,  and  still  there  was  no  tidings  of 
you.  The  more  folk  said  you  were  dead,  the  more 
Bessie  vowed  you  were  alive.  She  said  she  had 
visions  of  your  coming  in  the  night,  so  that  some 
said  she  had  gone  off  her  head  in  her  grief." 

"  Tell  me  ;  is  she  mad  ?  Is  she  stark,  raving 
mad?" 

"  No,  no ;  but  when  she  is  talking  quite  sanely 
about  something  else,  she  will  change  suddenly 
and  speak  about  your  coming.  She  is  quite  in  her 
senses,  except  that  she  would  believe  you  were 
coming  to  her  in  a  small  boat  over  the  sea." 

"  But,  Miss  Forbes,  I  don't  see  any  madness  here, 
except  in  yon  other  folk  who  would  believe  I  was 
drowned." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Mr.  Brown,  the  Austra- 
lian, went  on. 

"And  I'll  prove  you  all  mad  to  the  letter.  I 
will  come  back  to  her  in  a  little  boat  over  the 
sea.  How  can  it  best  be  done  ? " 


152  VELVETEENS, 

"  Oh,  sir,  that  would  be  easy ;  for  your  wife  goes 
every  afternoon  down  to  the  town-end,  and  looks 
over  the  sea  for  you." 

"All  right;  then,  I'll  take  a  boat  off  the  beach 
before  she  comes,  and  you  must  promise  not  to 
say  a  word  of  it  to  any  one.  Perhaps  the  manner 
of  my  coming  may  be  good  for  her  state  of  mind. 
Poor  Bessie,  thou  hast  been  faithful  to  my 
memory  all  these  years !  Tell  me,  is  she  much 
altered?" 

"You  must  not  expect  to  find  her  young  and 
beautiful  as  you  left  her :  suffering  has  left  its  mark 
on  her ;  her  eyes  have  at  times  a  wild,  haggard 
look." 

"Her  face!"  The  stranger  shut  his  eyes,  and 
spoke  softly  to  himself,  "  Ah,  how  well  I  remember 
her  face !  I  see  you,  Bessie,  standing  by  the  altar, 
tall  and  stately,  your  black  hair  and  pale  face,  your 
pretty  rosebud  mouth  and  glancing  eyes.  I  pro- 
mised to  take  care  of  you,  Bessie  ;  God  has  given 
me  an  opportunity  now,  and  I  am  ready  to  do  my 
duty,  though  you  should  look  wildly  on  me  and 
know  me  not.  Oh,  Miss  Forbes,  I  am  terribly 
excited !  What  do  you  think  ?  Can  she  bear  the 
shock  of  seeing  me  ? " 

"  I  think  so.  Perhaps  to  come  as  she  expects 
you  would  lead  her  mind  back  again.  There  is  a 
doctor  living  here  now.  Would  it  be  good  to  consult 
him?" 

"Very  wise.  I  will  call  and  see  him.  Meanwhile, 
let  no  one  but  your  brother  hear  of  my  arrival." 

Aunt  Bessie's  husband  took  leave  of  Jean  and  her 
brother,  getting  from  them  a  promise  to  come  and 
meet  him  after  four  o'clock, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  BOAT  RETURNS. 

•ELL,  Jean,  who  would  have  known  that 
that  burly  fellow  was  Mr.  Brown  who 
was  drowned  so  many  years  ago  ?  " 

"  There's  no  fear  of  his  being  recog- 
nized," said  Jean. 
"What  do  you  think  about  going  to  Australia, 
Jean  ? " 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better ;  and  it  would  be 
very  good  for  you  to  have  entire  change  of  scene, 
and  see  some  new  people.  You're  looking  fagged, 
Angus." 

"  Perhaps  a  change  "  would  be  good,"  said  her 
brother,  dreamily. 

"Don't  take  on  so  about  Minnie,"  said  Jean, 
clasping  her  brother  by  the  arm  affectionately  ;  "  she 
is  to  be  married  in  a  few  days,  and  you  must  try 
and  forget  her." 

"Forget  her?  Easily  said!  Well,  perhaps  it 
would  be  best  to  get  away  out  of  the  country ;  for 
if  I  stay  where  I  can  hear  of  her  being  ill-used  or 
in  distress,  I  might  do  something  in  haste  which 
I  should  be  sorry  for." 


1 54  VELVETEENS. 

"  It  seems  a  fine  offer,  Angus,  and  a  kind  and 
generous  offer." 

"It  is  all  that.  So  many  things  are  happening 
now,  I  get  quite  flustered.  I  ought  to  have  thanked 
him  more  than  I  did  ;  but  it  all  came  so  sudden 
upon  one." 

"  He  must  be  rich,  Angus  ;  and  out  there  we  shall 
be  more  free  and  equal  than  we  are  ever  like  to 
be  in  England." 

"You  little  radical!  Surely  father  and  mother 
were  very  happy  as  servants  to  the  Squire  ;  so  were 
we  till  he  died." 

"  Yes,  Angus,  but  now  we've  got  to  go ;  and  as 
we  are  both  strong  and  full  of  work,  I  say,  '  Let 
us  go  to  Australia.'  " 

They  went  on  discussing  the  new  scheme  with 
fresh  hope  ;  for  their  sudden  dismissal  had  given 
them  both  a  great  shock. 

When  Angus  took  his  gun  about  one  o'clock,  he 
said,  as  he  left  the  lodge — 

"  I  will  be  down  by  the  sea  after  four.  We  must 
back  him  up  all  we  can,  and  I'm  very  curious  to 
see  how  the  poor  thing  takes  it." 

Mr.  Brown,  on  reaching  Nether  Beckthorp,  went 
to  the  hotel,  and  ordered  a  private  sitting-room 
and  a  bedroom  ;  he  then  strolled  on  to  the 
beach,  and  engaged  a  boat  for  a  sail,  taking 
with  him  the  small  black  bag  with  which  he  had 
arrived. 

About  four  o'clock,  Jean  Forbes  called  upon  Aunt 
Bessie,  and  found  her  alone  in  the  house ;  she  was 
even  then  setting  out  the  tea-things  for  her  lost 
husband,  with  no  less  faith  than  she  had  set  them 
out  fifteen  years  before.  There  was  the  silver  cream- 
jug,  in  its  case,  a  wedding  present  as  bright  as  ever 
it  had  been  ;  the  china  tea-pot,  to  be  stirred  with 
Ceylon  tea  ;  the  muffin-dish,  empty — for  faith  did  not 


THE   BOAT   RETURNS.  155 

demand  a  perpetual  outlay  of  muffins  ;  and  one  cup 
bigger  than  the  rest,  for  him. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Aunt  Bessie.  I  thought  I  should 
be  in  time  to  catch  you  before  you  went  out,"  said 
Jean,  cheerily. 

"  Yes,  come  in,  do,  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with  us 
afterwards — that  is,  if  he  should  come  to-day." 

"  Thank  you,  I  will  come  in,  if  you  want  me  ;  but 
if  he  does  come  to-day,  Aunt  Bessie,  I  think  you 
may  want  to  have  him  to  yourself:  it's  a  long  while 
since  you  met,  remember." 

Mrs.  Brown  glanced  sharply  at  Jean's  face. 

"Ah !  Miss  Forbes,  I  have  never  known  you  make 
fun  of  me  yet.  No,  I  can  see  by  your  eyes  you  speak 
in  earnest.  Why,  bless  me,  if  you  haven't  got  tears 
in  'em !  " 

"Dear  Aunt  Bessie,  when  I  think  of  all  your 
sweet  patience  and  perseverance,  and  love  for  him 
you  have  lost,  I  can't  help  feeling  that  God  will 
reward  you  some  day." 

"I  have  not  the  least  doubt  of  it  myself,"  said 
the  other,  raising  her  black  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
clasping  her  hands  over  her  bosom  ;  "  though  for 
the  last  three  or  four  nights  my  visions  have  left 
me.  I'm  sorry  to  say  I  have  slept  like  a  baby 
all  night,  and  have  never  thought  on  my  poor 
Harry." 

"Ah!  you  have  had  some  good  nights!  and  you 
look  all  the  better  for  it,  my  dear:  your  cheeks 
have  some  colour,  your  eyes  look  quieter,  your 
forehead  feels  cooler.  Perhaps  God  is  going  to  send 
him  soon,  and  he  wants  you  to  look  well." 

Aunt  Bessie  looked  in  the  glass,  and  smiled. 

"Why,  I  declare  you  begin  to  look  quite  young 
again  !  " 

"  Jean,  don't  say  that ;  I  know  how  I  have  aged. 
I  always  have  a  fever  here,  in  my  brain.  I  have  never 


156  VELVETEENS. 

shed  a  tear  since  that  day.  Sometimes  I  think  if 
I  could  have  a  good  cry  I  might  feel  better.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

"  I'm  just  doing  your  hair  for  you,  Aunt  Bessie. 
I  always  have  thought  that  you  might  look  a 
little  better  if  it  was  done  my  way.  There !  your 
face  looks  quite  different  now." 

Jean  kissed  Aunt  Bessie,  who  fixed  her  deep, 
penetrating  eyes  upon  her,  and  asked — 

"  Tell  me,  Jean,  do  you  believe  he  may  come  back 
to  me?" 

"  I  never  used  to  believe  he  would  ;  but  your 
great  faith  has  melted  my  heart,  and,  if  it  has 
touched  mine,  may  it  not  have  found  favour 
yonder  ? " 

Jean  pointed  upwards,  and  Aunt  Bessie  mur- 
mured— 

"  May  the  dear  Lord  be  my  example,  and  may 
the  Holy  Spirit  dwell  in  our  hearts  and  give  us 
grace  to  do  the  will  of  God  !  " 

Then,  when  the  tea-things  had  been  duly  ar- 
ranged, the  two  women  set  out  for  the  town-end. 

In  the  street  they  met  John  Fletcher,  who  smiled 
a  pitying  smile  as  they  passed,  and  nodded  familiarly 
to  Jean. 

"  Shall  you  be  in  if  I  come  and  have  a  cup  of 
tea,  Mr.  Fletcher  ? "  said  Jean. 

"Why,  of  course  I  shall,  if  you  be  a  coming, 
miss." 

They  then  strolled  towards  the  sea,  Jean  nodding 
here  and  there  to  old  acquaintances,  who  murmured 
to  themselves,  half  in  pity— 

"There  she  goes  yonder,  to  meet  her  drowned 
husband,  poor  thing  !  " 

"But  what  is  Jean  Forbes  doing  along  with 
her?" 

"  Oh,  Jean  is  a  very  amiable  young  person,  and 


THE  BOAT  RETURNS.  157 

she  is  just  humouring  Aunt  Bessie.  It's  a  mortal 
shame  sending  those  Forbeses  away." 

Girls  with  shawls  over  their  heads  were  running 
to  the  village  pump  to  draw  water  for  the  evening 
tea ;  but  they  took  no  heed  of  Aunt  Bessie,  who 
walked  with  head  erect,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  grey 
haze  on  the  horizon  till  they  stopped  at  the  edge  of 
the  cliff — the  town-end.  The  fishing-boats  could  be 
seen  along  shore,  some  two,  some  four  miles  away ; 
and  against  the  sky  they  could  discern  the  smoke 
of  a  passing  steamer.  An  old  man  in  fishing 
costume  stood  meditatively  looking  over  the  wall,  as 
he  smoked  his  pipe  ;  all  at  once  he  took  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  and  pointed  seawards. 

Jean  noticed  the  gesture,  and  left  the  side  of  her 
companion. 

"  I  see  a  small  boat  coming ;  do  you  know 
anything  about  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  Tse  got  half  a  crown  to  pretend  I 
see  her  hailed  by  some  steamer.  What's  the  little 
game  ?  Do  you  know  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  but  hush !  It's  to  help  poor  Aunt 
Bessie." 

"  Help  ?  it  look  more  like  making  a  fool  on  her. 
I'm  not  a-going  to  lend  myself  to  no  such  schemes 
as  that." 

"  Hark — in  your  ear ! — that's  her  lost  husband  in 
the  boat  yonder !  " 

The  old  fisherman  bent  double,  put  both  hands  on 
his  knees,  and  said  in  a  subdued  giggle — 

"  Lord !  one's  as  mad  as  t'other." 

"Aunt  Bessie,"  said  Jean,  returning,  "do  you  see 
that  black  sail  out  yonder  ? " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  ;  it's  put  me  all  in  a  tremble  ;  for, 
you  know,  they  never  go  out  to  sea  like  that  when 
they're  fishing." 

"Let  us  sit  down  a  while  on  this  seat  by  the 


158  VELVETEENS. 

wall ;    it    will    be    some    time    before    she    comes 
ashore." 

"  Harry/'  said  Aunt  Bessie,  "  is  that  boat  yonder 
coming  straight  in  from  the  offing  ? " 

"  She  be,  missus.  I  don't  rightly  know  what's  up. 
She  should  have  been  fetching  up  her  lobster-pots, 
like  the  rest,  but  she  were  called  out  to  sea,  and 
now  she's  a-coming  home." 

Aunt  Bessie  got  up,  and  shaded  her  eyes  with 
both  her  hands.  Soon  she  began  to  talk  to  herself 
and  pace  restlessly  up  and  down. 

One  or  two  more  old  men  came,  and  the  strange 
news  soon  got  about  that  Jean  Forbes  had  gone  off 
her  head,  and  had  the  same  illusions  as  poor  Aunt 
Bessie. 

From  cottage  to  cottage  the  news  spread  like 
fire  amongst  straw,  and  in  less  than  ten  minutes  all 
the  capable  women  and  old  men  left  in  Beckthorp 
had  hurried  down  to  see  the  wonder. 

"  Yes  ;  there  she  stands  beside  Aunt  Bessie,  poor 
thing !  and  it's  all  along  of  the  new  Squire  giving 
them  notice  to  quit." 

They  did  not  say  anything,  but  stood  a  little 
aloof,  whispering  and  looking  out  of  the  corners  of 
their  eyes,  and  nodding  their  heads.  Fortunately, 
Aunt  Bessie  was  too  taken  up  by  watching  the  sail 
to  notice  the  unusual  crowd  and  stir ;  but  Jean's 
face  flushed  with  anger  at  their  idle  curiosity,  and 
she  went  to  them  once,  and  said— 

"Please  don't  excite  Aunt  Bessie.  She  is  very 
hopeful  to-day  that  he  may  come,  good  friends." 

No  one  answered  Jean's  appeal ;  they  were  all  so 
impressed  with  the  idea  that  Jean  had  gone  mad, 
that  they  could  only  gape  and  wonder.  When  she 
had  left  them,  one  old  man  said — 

"  She  don't  talk  so  very  mad,  after  all  said  and 
done." 


THE   BOAT   RETURNS.  159 

"  No ;  but  did  you  mark  her  high  colour  ?  There 
was  fever  in  her  cheek,"  said  an  old  goody ;  "  and 
I  ain't  nussed  fever  for  nothing." 

"Aye,"  said  a  third,  "and  did  you  mark  her 
cunning  ?  They're  al'ays  as  cunning  as  moles — 
mad  folk  be, — she  never  spoke  of  her  own  hope 
and  belief,  but  put  it  all  on  poor  Aunt  Bessie 
yonder." 

"Aye,  so  she  did;  so  she  did.  How  amazing 
cunning  they  mad  folk  be  ! " 

"Who  said  Jean  Forbes  ever  believed  any  such 
thing  ? "  said  the  old  man  who  had  first  expressed 
his  conviction  that  she  spoke  sanely. 

"  I  did,"  said  the  old  man  who  was  first  on  the 
scene ;  "  I  said  the  young  woman  corned  up  to  me, 
and  spoke  in  a  whisper  mysterious  enough  to  wake 
the  sheeted  dead.  Says  she,  'It's  her  husband  in 
yon  lugger.' " 

The  sensation  now  became  intense.  Every  eye 
was  turned  upon  poor  Jean ;  so  that  Aunt  Bessie 
crept  down  the  sea-steps  almost  without  attracting 
attention. 

Jean  remained  on  the  top,  shielding  her  eyes  from 
the  sun  with  her  hand,  so  that  she  did  not  notice 
she  had  been  left  by  Aunt  Bessie. 

The  fisher-folk,  their  wives  and  children,  now 
began  to  press  round  Jean  ;  and,  when  she  turned,  so 
many  peering  faces,  some  panic-stricken,  some  on 
the  broad  grin,  met  her  eye,  that  she  was  quite 
startled. 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Brown  gone  to  ? "  she  asked, 
with  some  dignity. 

"  Gone  to  meet  Mr.  Brown,"  said  an  impudent 
young  urchin,  in  a  mocking  tone  ;  whereat  everybody 
laughed,  and  was  relieved. 

"  You  may  laugh,  if  you  like,"  said  Jean  ;  "  but  for 
my  part  I  am  more  disposed  to  cry,  when  I  think 


160  VELVETEENS. 

how  long  that  poor  body  has  been  waiting  patiently 
for  his  coming.  And  now,  neighbours,  I  tell  you 
he  has  come ;  so  don't  vex  the  poor  woman  with 
your  jeers,  you  little  boys.  Stand  aside  when 
he  lands  and  give  them  room  to  pass.  What 
are  you  whispering  about  ?  You  don't  believe 
it  is  Mr.  Brown  ?  Well,  I  tell  you  I  have  seen 
him ! " 

"  There  now !  "  "  Clean  gone  out  o'  her  mind  !  " 
"A  march  hare  bain't  nothink  to  her!"  "Did 
yer  ever  see  the  likes  o'  that ! " 

Such,  and  of  such  sort,  were  the  muttered  exclama- 
tions which  saluted  Jean's  ears.  From  being  angry, 
she  became  amused. 

"  It's  all  right ;  I  am  going  to  have  tea  with  Mr. 
Brown  this  afternoon.  But  do  respect  Aunt  Bess's 
state  of  excitement." 

"  There's  a  deal  o'  method  in  her  madness,"  said 
one. 

"She  says  it  that  calm,  I'm  a'most  fit  to  believe 
it's  true,"  said  another. 

And  then  the  crowd  laughed  again. 

But  they  no  longer  cast  careless,  squandering 
glances  on  the  lugger,  which  was  now  near  the  shore  ; 
every  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  boat. 

"  She's  got  two  men  in  her  yonder." 

"Ay,  ay,  and  one  on  'em  is  dressed  in  a  light 
suit." * 

"  He's  holding  up  summut — a  black  bag,  it  looks 
like." 

"  It's  none  o'  young  Harry  Brown,  if  I  be'n't  blind  ; 
it's  a  big,  fat  man." 

"  Look  at  Aunt  Bessie  yonder !  " 

Mrs.  Brown,  in  this  agony  of  her  suspense,  had 
gone  down  to  the  water's  edge,  whither  Jean  had 
now  followed  her. 

The  poor  woman  had  sunk  upon  her  knees,  on 


THE  BOAT  RETURNS.  \6l 

the  shingle,  and  had  buried  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

Through  the  breakers  came  the  lugger,  with  her 
sail  flapping  before  the  wind  ;  now  the  keel  began 
to  grate  on  the  sand  and  stones ;  now  the  stranger 
lifted  his  voice,  and  shouted — 

"  Bessie,  my  darling,  is  that  you  ?  Is  that  you, 
Bessie  ? " 

Aunt  Bessie  gave  one  look  at  the  burly  form 
in  the  boat's  bow ;  then,  with  the  cry  of  a  hunted 
hare,  she  threw  up  her  arms,  and  fled  back  to  the 
sea-steps,  with  wild  eyes  and  incoherent  speech. 


M 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


spectful 
stairs. 
When 


THE   CEYLON   TEA. 

HE  people  on  the  cliff  had  been  watching 
intently  the  course  of  events.  They 
saw  Aunt  Bessie's  gesture  of  despair, 
and  her  sudden  flight  from  the  stranger. 
They  now  made  way  for  her  in  re- 
silence,  as  she  came  muttering  up  the 


she  reached  the  top  she  looked  round 
with  flashing  eyes  upon  the  crowd  of  kinsfolk  and 
acquaintance,  and  said — 

"  Shame  on  ye !  to  get  up  a  piece  of  acting  like 
this,  to  make  fun  of  a  poor  woman — perhaps  a 
widow  ;  who  knows  ?  For  I  feel  a'most  as  if  God 
Himself  had  deserted  me  now." 

No  one  spake,  no  one  dared  to  make  reply  to  the 
poor  woman  in  her  terrible  agony  of  despair.  They 
felt  that  she  had  been  cruelly  deceived ;  they  were 
as  indignant  as  she  was. 

She  passed  through  them,  along  the  street,  back 
to  her  little  house,  where  the  best  tea-things  were 
laid  out,  and  the  Ceylon  tea  lay  ready  in  the  china 
tea-pot. 

And  Mr.  Brown! 


THE  CEYLON   TEA.  163 

Well,  when  Mr.  Brown  saw  the  bride  of  his 
fond  recollections,  the  dashing  brunette,  the  girl 
of  glancing  eyes  and  laughter-loving  mouth  turned 
into  a  middle-aged  woman  with  a  wild  eye  and 
haggard  face,  he  felt  a  bitter  disappointment. 

Perhaps  this  showed  itself  in  his  face  just  when 
his  wife  was  looking  eagerly  for  the  husband  of 
her  youth  ;  yet,  when  she  turned  and  made  for  the 
cliff,  his  first  impulse  was  to  jump  out  and  overtake 
her  ;  but  he  restrained  himself,  and  walked  leisurely 
down  a  plank  which  was  placed  for  him. 

Jean  Forbes  was  by  the  edge  of  the  water,  per- 
plexity in  her  eyes. 

"Missed  fire  this  time,  Miss  Forbes.  What  is  to 
be  done  now  ?  " 

"  Come  with  me.     She  expects  you  to  tea." 

"  The    dickens    she    does  !      Why,    how    could 


"She  has  laid  out  tea  for  you  this  fifteen  year. 
Come  along  !  " 

As  Jean  and  Mr.  Brown  mounted  the  sea-stairs, 
an  ominous  sound  of  hissing  met  their  ears. 

"What's  that  mean,  Miss  Forbes?" 

"They  think  I  have  been  deceiving  your  wife, 
and  that  you  are  nobody  but  a  stranger  after 
all." 

"  Is  that  it  ?  It  seems  very  hard  to  prove  that 
I  am  I.  Now,  my  good  women,  don't  any  of  you 
remember  Harry  Brown  ?  " 

"You're  not  Mr.  Brown  —  get  along  with  you, 
do  !  " 

"Well,  I  was  when  I  got  up  this  morning  and 
looked  in  the  glass.  Of  course,  I  may  have  got 
changed  at  nurse." 

The  frank,  ringing  tones  made  a  diversion  in 
his  favour,  but  amongst  some  laughter  there  were 
many  murmuring  voices. 


164  VELVETEENS. 

"  What !  is  there  no  one  here  who  can  remem- 
ber Harry  Brown  ?  What  old  man  is  yon  with  the 
short  pipe  ?  isn't  it  Bob  Fletcher  ?  Come,  Bob,  is 
that  some  of  the  bird's-eye  I  gave  you  to  smoke 
the  evening  before  I  was  married,  when  you  and 
I  were  planning  out  a  new  row-boat  in  Joe's  yard 
yonder  ? " 

"  What's  that  he  says  ? "  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
drawing  the  pipe  slowly  from  his  mouth.  And  when 
the  words  were  repeated  to  him  in  a  shrill  key  by 
his  grand-daughter,  he  came  and  lifted  his  blear 
eyes  to  Mr.  Brown's  face,  uttering  an  expression  of 
surprise.  "  Blessed  if  it  ain't  you,  Master  Harry ! 
Well,  if  this  doesn't  cap  owt !  Look  ye  here,  lads 
and  lasses,  it's  his'n  voice." 

"  Yes,  I've  got  my  own  voice,  but  my  stomach  has 
got  larger  with  living  on  roots  in  a  desert  island. 
Good  folk,  I  don't  wonder  at  your  unbelief;  but 
I  know  such  a  lot  of  things  about  you  all,  and 
your  fathers  and  mothers,  that  I  am  sure  I  can 
prove  that  Harry  Brown  is  Harry  Brown,  if  you'll 
only  give  me  time." 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  time,  Master 
Harry  ?  " 

"  I  was  cast  away  for  thirteen  years  on  an  island 
to  the  north  of  Australia.  To-morrow,  if  all  goes 
well  with  my  wife,  I  will  invite  a  lot  of  you  to 
supper,  and  you  shall  hear  all  about  it.  You  must 
excuse  me  now,  for  I  am  rather  in  trouble  about 
her,  as  you  know.  Good-bye,  neighbours." 

"And  God  bless  you,  sir,"  was  the  general  reply. 

"  Now,  Miss  Forbes,  I  am  almost  sorry  I  ever 
came  back.  It  would  be  bad  enough  to  know  that 
my  wife  was  dead  ;  it  is  worse  to  know  she  is  out 
of  her  mind,  and  can  never  recognize  me." 

"She  is  sometimes,  indeed  generally,  quite 
reasonable,  Mr,  Brown,  I  hope,  when  she  finds 


THE   CEYLON   TEA.  165 

you  are  really  her  husband,  she  will  be  herself 
again.  You  must  know  that  she  has  had  many 
bitter  disappointments,  and  some  of  the  boys  have, 
out  of  fun,  made  believe  you  were  coming.  So  that 
it  is  no  wonder  she  left  you  as  she  did." 

By  this  time  they  were  near  the  house  where 
John  Fletcher,  with  his  sister  and  Mrs.  Brown, 
lived.  Jean  said — 

"Better  wait  at  the  gate  a  few  minutes,  while  I 
go  in  and  prepare  her." 

So  Jean  tapped  and  entered.  She  found  Mrs. 
Brown  sitting  with  her  arms  in  her  lap,  looking 
listlessly  into  space. 

"  Why,  Aunt  Bessie,  this  is  too  bad  of  you  !  "  said 
Jean,  putting  her  hand  on  the  woman's  shoulder. 

Mrs.  Brown  stared  at  the  kettle,  which  was 
hissing  merrily  on  the  fire  ;  but  she  made  no 
reply. 

"  I  have  brought  him  to  have  tea  with  you,"  Jean 
went  on;  "he  is  standing  outside  now,  waiting. 
Come,  Aunt  Bessie  !  " 

Still  she  remained  motionless,  with  dry  eyes. 

Jean  sighed  heavily ;  to  think  that  this  poor 
woman  should  have  delighted  so  long  in  a  hope 
that  seemed  a  delusion  ;  and,  now  that  hope  had 
turned  to  reality,  should  be  incapable  of  enjoying 
the  hour  she  had  longed  for  so  devoutly  ! 

Outside  the  house  there  were  voices.  Jean 
went  out,  and  found  Minnie  talking  excitedly  to 
Mr.  Brown. 

"Oh,  Jean  Forbes!"  she  cried;  "isn't  this  a 
miracle  ?  How  does  Aunt  Bessie  feel  now  ?  I'm 
sure  I  am  ready  to  jump  over  the  moon  for  joy." 
And  she  put  her  hand  on  the  low  stone  wall,  and 
vaulted  into  the  garden. 

"  That's  a  pretty  girl,"  said  Mr.  Brown.  "  That's 
how  my  Bessie  looked  the  day  we  were  married— 


1 66  VELVETEENS. 

just  so  winsome  as  that.  Oh  dear !  how  shall  I  ever 
be  able  to  get  her  back  with  me  to  Australia  ?  I'm 
half  sorry  I  ever  returned." 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Brown,  and  speak  to  her ;  per- 
haps she  will  know  your  voice,  as  the  old  men  did 
yonder.'' 

Then  Jean  and  Mr.  Brown  entered  the  room 
where  Aunt  Bessie  sat,  holding  the  empty  tea-pot 
in  her  lap,  and  making  no  reply  to  Minnie's  flow 
of  words. 

"  Bessie,  my  darling,  I  have  come  at  last ;  but 
you  don't  remember  me,  I'm  afraid,"  said  Mr. 
Brown. 

Aunt  Bessie  put  her  head  a  little  aside,  as 
one  who  listens  to  catch  a  tune  he  thinks  he 
knows. 

"Bessie,  don't  you  mind  me?  Don't  you  re- 
member Harry  Brown  ?  I  have  been  away  a  long 
time,  dearest,  but" — and  here  her  husband  knelt 
beside  her  and  grasped  her  hand — "they  tell  me 
you  have  been  very  faithful  to  me,  and  have 
believed  I  should  come  back  to  you  again." 

Still  no  reply ;  but  when  Minnie  broke  in  with 
a  sob,  the  poor  woman  held  up  her  left  hand,  the 
first  finger  being  pointed  upwards  as  if  she  were 
waiting  for  some  heavenly  music,  and  feared  any 
earthly  interruption. 

Mr.  Brown,  seeing  her  so  distraught,  and  catch- 
ing in  the  worn  features  some  resemblance  to  the 
pretty  maid  he  had  left  so  many  years  before,  felt 
a  sudden  thrill  of  grief  seize  him,  and  he  let  his 
head  fall  in  his  wife's  lap,  as  he  murmured— 

"  It  is  hard  to  bear !    Gfod  help  me  !  " 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  whispered  Aunt  Bessie,  looking 
wildly  round. 

Minnie  was  weeping ;  Jean  came  forward,  and 
said — 


THE  CEYLON   TEA.  167 

"The  husband  you  have  so  long  prayed  for  is 
kneeling  at  your  knee,  and  you  will  not  recognize 
him.  God  has  answered  your  prayers,  and  you  are 
still  unthankful." 

"  Oh,  my  head !  my  head !  It  will  split.  Did 
you  say  my  husband  was  coming  back  ?  Where 
is  he  ? " 

The  strong  man  was  shaken  by  his  feeling,  and 
cried — 

"Oh,  my  poor  mad  wife,  would  God  you  had 
died ! " 

"  There  it  is  again !  It  is  his  voice !  What ! 
have  I  believed  so  long,  only  to  be  faithless  at  the 
last  ?  Speak,  Harry !  Speak  again,  if  it  be  thy 
voice  indeed. " 

"  My  own  Bessie/*  he  cried,  pulling  her  face  down, 
till  it  was  close  to  his.  "I  am  altered,  and  you 
don't  know  my  face  ;  but  you  remember  my  voice, 
don't  you  ?  And  this  ring — see  !  I  have  kept  it  all 
the  time,  Bessie,  darling." 

"  She  is  crying !  See  !  the  great  tears  are  rolling 
down  her  cheeks,  Jean,"  cried  Minnie,  as  she  pointed 
to  Aunt  Bessie. 

The  storm  which  had  begun  in  thunder-drops, 
ended  in  a  flood  of  tears  and  sobs,  amongst  which 
they  could  hear  the  poor  woman  cry— 

"God  forgive  me,  for  my  hard  heart!  God 
forgive  me  my  want  of  faith  !  " 

The  two  young  women  quietly  left  the  room, 
and  there,  in  the  solitude  of  their  first  experience 
of  wedded  life,  this  man  and  woman  learnt  the 
differences  and  the  sameness  which  time  and 
character  had  developed  within  them. 

When,  ten  minutes  later,  Minnie  and  Jean  re- 
entered  the  room,  they  found  Aunt  Bessie  smiling 
over  the  first  cup  of  Ceylon  tea  she  had  ever 
poured  out  for  her  husband,  while  he  was  talking 


1 68  VELVETEENS. 

with  all  his  might,  and  making  up  for  the  time 
he  had  lost. 

They  both  went  up  and  kissed  Aunt  Bessie. 

"Aye,  but  it's  my  turn  now,  lasses,"  said  Mr. 
Brown  ;  and  he  inflicted  the  loudest  of  Australian 
bush-ranging  smacks  on  the  cheeks  of  the  girls,  who 
took  it  in  mirth  and  merriment,  so  glad  were  they 
to  see  Aunt  Bessie  herself  again. 

"  I  feel  so  much  clearer  in  my  head  since  I  have 
had  a  good  cry,"  said  Aunt  Bessie. 

"Yes,"  replied  Jean,  "you  look  bright  and  happy 
now.'1 

"I  should  think  she  does,"  broke  in  the  Aus- 
tralian. "My  Bess  says  she  knew  my  voice  from 
the  first,  but  she  was  afraid  somebody  was  imi- 
tating me,  and  trying  to  take  her  in.  Then  she 
got  angry,  and  hardly  knew  what  she  was  about, 
and  her  head  ached.  But  it's  all  right  now,  isn't 
it,  Bess?" 

"  I  hope  so ;  but  I'm  still  rather  frightened  of 
you,  Harry.  You  never  had  that  great  black 
beard  when  I  promised  to  love,  honour,  and  obey 
you." 

"  No ;  I  was  a  better  one  to  look  at,  but  not 
such  a  stayer  as  I  am  now.  Plenty  of  these  where 
I  come  from,  Bess." 

He  threw  a  handful  of  sovereigns  on  the  table. 

"  Oh ! "  cried  Aunt  Bessie,  gathering  them  up 
carefully,  "we  shall  soon  be  in  the  workhouse,  if 
we  begin  like  that." 

"  Shall  we,  Bess  ?  Then,  you  pocket  them  up 
for  a  rainy  day,  if  you  distrust  my  powers  of 
husbandry ! " 

"  May  I  ?  All  this  heap  of  gold  ?  Why,  there's 
nine,  ten,  eleven  pound  ten  chucked  down  as  if  it 
was  dirt." 

"So  it  is,  lass.    Australian  dirt  is  at  the  bottom 


THE  CEYLON   TEA.  169 

of  it.  But  get  your  things  together ;  we  ought  to 
be  moving." 

"  Moving,  Harry  ?  You're. surely  not  going  away 
to-night  ? " 

"  I've  ordered  rooms  at  the  hotel,  my  dear  wife. 
I  have  a  few  letters  to  write  ;  and  while  I  write, 
you  can  sit  quiet,  and  look  at  me,  and  wonder  if 
I  am  Harry  or  no." 

"  Not  the  big  hotel  yonder,  I  hope  !  " 

"Why  not?     Is  it  not  comfortable  enough?" 

"  Oh,  Harry !  you  should  have  asked  some  one 
first.  They  charge  you  pounds  and  pounds!  It's 
only  the  very  first  quality  that  go  to  the  hotel." 

"  That's  what  I  thought,  darling  ;  but  I  knew  you 
were  of  the  very  first  quality,  so  I  chose  your  room 
carefully.  I  have  asked  the  price,  too,  so  you  won't 
frighten  me.  You  are  to  have  a  private  sitting- 
room,  and  a  snug  little  fire  for  seven-and-sixpence 
a  day.  Cheap  enough  !  " 

"A  private  sitting-room  !     Well,  I  never  did  !  " 

Poor  Aunt  Bessie  looked  comically  bewildered  ; 
but  her  husband  kissed  her,  and  said — 

"  Now,  get  some  things  together,  and  I  will  send 
a  man  to  fetch  them." 

Aunt  Bessie  went  to  her  room  to  pack  her  little 
stock  of  clothes  and  valuables. 

Minnie  had  been  busy,  putting  away  the  tea- 
things.  Mr.  Brown  was  watching  her,  and  kept 
saying  to  himself,  "  She  looks  just  like  my  Bess  did, 
bless  her."  At  last  he  said — 

"Well,  Miss  Minnie,  and  has  no  one  wanted  you 
yet?" 

"  Oh  yes !  I  am  engaged,"  said  Minnie,  rather 
shyly. 

"  She  is  to  be  married  in  a  few  days,"  said  Jean. 

"  Indeed  !  Pray,  who  is  the  happy  man  ?  I  must 
get  my  wedding  present  ready,  must  I  not  ? " 


VELVETEENS. 


"  Harry,"  said  Aunt  Bessie,  re-entering  the  room 
at  that  instant,  "  you  forget  that  you  should  consult 
me  first.  I  have  known  Minnie  the  longest ;  she 
has  always  been  very  kind  and  helpful  to  me,  and 
I  should  like  to  give  her  the  best  present  that  can 
be  got." 

"  And  so  you  shall,  Bess  ;  so  you  shall." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

NOT    QUITE  AT    HOME. 

HEN   Mr.  Brown  and  his  wife  left   the 
Fletchers'  house  arm  in  arm  to  go  to 
their  rooms  in  the  hotel,  they  found  the 
street  thronged  with  villagers,  many  of 
whom  pressed  forward  to  shake  hands 
with  "the  newly  married  couple,"  as  one  old  man 
phrased  it.    And  a  hearty  cheer  sent  them  on  their 
way  rejoicing. 

The  lady  who  managed  the  hotel  was  so  polite 
to  Aunt  Bessie  that  the  latter  could  not  forbear 
saying  to  her  husband— 

"  I  never  knew  before,  Harry,  how  false  the  world 
is.  That  fine  lady  would  have  thought  it  beneath 
her  to  speak  to  me  yesterday  ;  now  she  is  all  smiles, 
and  '  I  hope  we  can  make  you  comfortable,  Mrs. 
Brown  ? '  or,  '  Is  your  room  to  your  liking  ? '  Oh, 
it  makes  me  feel  quite  angry  with  her ! " 

"  Ah,  Bess,  I  have  learnt  that  lesson  ;  even  out 
in  the  bush  we  have  our  snobs.  But  as  for  Eng- 
land, they  are  so  used  to  bowing  down  to  lords, 
that  to  bow  down  to  gold  is  quite  natural  to  them. 
And,  I  reckon,  gold  is  the  lord  of  the  coming 
century.  By-the-by,  what  present  shall  we  buy 


172  VELVETEENS. 

for  your  young  friend,  Minnie  Fletcher?  I  admire 
her  fine  eyes  and  pretty  colour,  and  I'm  very  glad 
she  has  behaved  so  well  to  you.  What  shall  we 
do  for  her,  Bess  ? " 

Mrs.  Brown's  dark  eyes  sought  her  husband's 
face  doubtingly ;  she  perused  his  laughing  features, 
and  saw  strength  and  good  temper  mingled.  At 
length  she  replied,  putting  her  hand  on  his,  as  they 
sat  in  the  embrasure  of  a  bow  window  that  looked 
upon  the  darkening  sea — 

"  Harry,  will  you  do  what  I  wish  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  will ;  a  thousand  pound,  if  you 
like." 

"  Harry,  the  best  thing  we  can  do  for  Minnie  is 
to  stop  her  marriage.  I  want  you  to  do  it.  You 
have  said  you  would  do  what  I  wish,  darling, 
haven't  you  ? " 

Harry  Brown  gazed  into  the  dark  eyes  of  his 
wife,  as  though  he  were  trying  to  fathom  their 
depth.  For  the  moment  he  half  feared  lest  some 
craze  were  troubling  her  poor  brain  ;  but  she  looked 
up  at  him  so  trustfully,  that  he  was  reassured  ;  he 
saw  just  now  no  gleam  of  madness  in  her ;  his 
hand  pressed  her  brow — it  was  cool ;  she  was  calm 
and  collected.  Yet  was  he  staggered  by  her  request, 
and  doubted  what  to  say. 

"  Harry,  let  us  think  no  more  of  this  till  to- 
morrow. I  have  very  good  reasons  for  wishing 
Minnie  to  break  off  with  Giles,  but  to-night  I  must 
hear  all  about  yourself.  For,  if  I  don't  keep  hearing 
about  you,  and  pressing  your  hand,  I  shall  give 
over  believing  you  are  my  Harry." 

"  Ah,  Bess,  that  would  be  a  pretty  kettle  of  fish ! 
If  you  were  to  take  it  into  your  head  to  offer  your 
Ceylon  tea  to  some  better-looking  chap  than  I  was, 
I  should  be  bushed,  shouldn't  I  ? " 

The  evening  sped  on  in  interesting  talk.    They 


NOT  QUITE   AT  HOME.  173 

Were  exchanging  confidences — these  two  elderly 
lovers ;  and  it  was  quite  extraordinary  how  the 
servants  of  the  hotel  found  some  excuse  for 
dropping  in  to  see  how  things  were  going. 

And  the  night  fell,  and  the  lights  were  put  out, 
and  the  sea  moaned  in  the  distance  just  as 
usual. 

But  Aunt  Bessie  cried  quietly  as  she  said  her 
prayers ;  for  she  had  to  alter  the  old  form  of  words 
she  had  used  so  long,  and  her  gratitude  ebbed  out 
in  tears. 

There  were  callers  at  the  bar  quite  early  next 
morning,  for  all  the  neighbourhood  had  heard  of 
Aunt  Bessie's  luck,  and  were  anxious  to  hear  every 
scrap  of  news. 

The  lady  manageress  was  quite  excited  as  she 
replied  to  a  group  of  questioners,  who  stood  with 
elbows  on  the  counter  and  mouths  open. 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Smithson,  she  came  in  on  his  arm  last 
evening  in  her  old  stuff  dress,  looking  so  nice  and 
quiet.  Mad  ?  Oh,  dear  no !  not  a  trace  of  aberra- 
tion, I  assure  you.  Well,  you  know,  she  never  was 
what  you  may  call  mad  ;  it  was  only  after  three 
o'clock  in  the  afternoons  that  she  used  to  carry  on 
so  with  her  delusions,  and  her — what  ?  Oh,  to  be 
sure !  Of  course  her  delusions  came  true,  and  our 
laughing  at  her  (as  you  say)  was — well,  I  don't  call 
it  madness,  nor  yet  delusion,  as  you  seem  to  think, 
Mr.  Cook  ;  still  it's  very  wonderful,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  How  about  three  o'clock  this  afternoon,  eh  ? " 

"  That,  sir,  is  settled.  Mr.  Brown  has  sent  down 
to  order  the  Victoria  and  a  couple  of  horses  for  a 
long  drive  after  lunch.  Very  wise  of  him,  isn't  it  ? " 

"  Oh,  then,  he  has  really  got  plenty  of  tin  ? " 

"Well,"  said  the  manageress,  simpering,  and 
doling  out  her  next  words  in  subdued  tones  as 
if  they  were  a  delicacy  in  confidences  which  she 


174  VELVETEENS. 

could  only  entrust  to  her  nearest  friends,  "if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  express  my  opinion,  I  should 
say  Mr.  Brown  was  extremely  well  off.  Last  night 
I  went  up  to  her  bedroom,  to  see  if  the  poor  thing 
had  every  comfort,  and  she  said  to  me,  quite  like 
a  little  child — so  natural,  so  unaffected, '  Look  here/ 
she  said,  'at  this  beautiful  ring  my  husband  has 
given  me  ; '  and  she  stretched  out  her  poor,  thin 
hand.  My  word !  it  nearly  made  me  jump  to  see 
it.  What  was  it  ?  why,  a  cluster  of  diamonds,  all 
twinkling  at  you  as  real  as  real !  I  never  saw  such 
a  ring  out  of  a  shop-window  before.  And  she  said 
to  me,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  her  lips  all 
quivering,  '  God  has  been  very  good  to  me,  hasn't 
He  ? '  Well,  that  took  away  all  my  envy  at  once. 
I  flung  my  arms  round  her  neck,  and  kissed  her ; 
if  I  hadn't  done  that,  I  should  have  burst  out 
crying." 

This  recital  was  received  with  breathless  atten- 
tion. When  the  lady  stopped,  one  of  the  house- 
maids, who  had  been  listening  outside  the  bar-room, 
came  in,  and  said — 

"  Please,  ma'am,  what  am  I  to  do  about  dusting 
Mrs.  Brown's  private  sitting-room  ? " 

"  What  are  you  to  do,  Mary  ?  why,  dust  it  of 
course !  You  should  have  done  it  an  hour  ago. 
They  will  be  wanting  breakfast  soon,  I  dare  say. 
It's  close  upon  eight  now ;  and  poor  Mrs.  Brown  is 
used  to  early  rising." 

The  lady  manageress  could  not  resist  this  little  slap 
at  rich  Mrs.  Brown,  only  yesterday  mad  Aunt  Bessie. 

But  Mary  seemed  to  have  something  more  to 
say  ;  for,  instead  of  receiving  her  reprimand  meekly, 
she  smiled  all  round  the  bar-room  significantly. 

"  Now,  then  ;  what  are  you  simpering  about  ?  Did 
you  hear  me  tell  you  to  go  and  do  that  room  at 
once  ? " 


NOT  QUITE  AT  HOME.  175 

"Yes,  ma'am,  I  did,"  said  Mary,  taking  out  her 
very  dirty  handkerchief  to  laugh  into  with  some 
show  of  reluctance ;  "  but  she's  gone  and  done  it 
a  hour  ago."  And  now  Mary  fairly  exploded  into 
a  guffaw. 

"  Who's  done  it  ? "  said  the  manageress,  sharply. 

"  Who  ?  why,  Aunt  B  —  I  should  say,  Mrs. 
Brown." 

"  No,  you  don't  mean  it,  Mary  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  though.  When  I  went  up  with  my 
duster,  what  should  I  see  but  the  poor  thing  in  her 
old  gown,  hard  at  it.  The  chairs  was  all  piled  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  the  windows  was  flung 
open,  and  there  she  stood  a-wiping  round  the  side- 
board, like  any Well,  I  never  see  such  a  sight 

in  a  private  sitting-room  at  a  big  hotel  like  this— 
never  in  all  my  life." 

"What  did  you  do,  Mary?" 

"  I  was  fairly  took  aback  at  first ;  but  I  said, 
says  I,  '  Oh,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  hope  you  won't  demean 
yourself ! '  But  she  broke  in, '  Oh  yes,  I  shall ;  I  like 
it,  Mary.  Mr.  Brown  is  dozing,  and  I  must  be 
doing  something.  I  feel  so  queer  in  this  big  place, 
but  give  me  work  to  do,  and  I  shan't  think.  I'm  too 
happy,  Mary,  by  half.  God  has  been  too  good  to 
me,  too  good  ;  and  if  I  get  stuck-up,  and  behaving 
as  if  I  was  a  lady  born,  He'll  very  like  send  my  hus- 
band off  to  sea  again  ;  and  I  can't  blame  Him  for  it. 
I  should  do  the  same,  I  know." 

"Ah,  poor  thing,  she's  mad  !  "  said  the  manageress. 

"  Not  she,"  replied  Mr.  Smithson  ;  "  it's  my  belief 
she's  more  sane  than  the  lot  of  us.  I  wish  I  had  a 
man  or  woman  on  my  farm  with  half  her  sense — 
eh,  Cook?" 

Mr.  Cook  slapped  the  counter  with  his  hat,  and 
said — 

"  It's  what  I've  been  saying  all  along.    Aunt  Bess 


176  VELVETEENS. 

has  a  pull  over  us  like  this :  she  takes  everything  to 
the  Almighty,  and  makes  her  friends  in  the  other 
world  ;  so  if  she  doesn't  get  what  she  asks  for  she 
bears  it  patiently,  and  believes  it's  for  the  best. 
She  isn't  like  other  folk,  I  own.  She  rambles  on  to 
herself.  I've  met  her  up  on  the  heath,  a-talking 
away  like  a  good  un.  I  heard  her  very  words : 
they  was  a  sort  of  talking  prayers — not  com- 
plaining and  whining  for  blessings,  as  some  folks 
does,  but  just  pleasant  discourse,  as  if  she  was 
confiding  her  thoughts  to  a  wise  and  good  friend. 
I  can  tell  you  it  sent  me  home  thinking,  that  after- 
noon. And,  ever  since,  I've  stuck  up  for  Aunt  Bessie 
—God  bless  her ! " 

"  Well,  He  has  that,"  said  another  listener. 

"  There's  her  bell,  Mary.    Run  quick,  will  you  ? " 

Mary  vanished,  and  the  good  folk  in  the  bar- 
room heard  Mrs.  Brown's  voice,  as  she  stood  on  the 
landing  of  the  first  floor — 

"Oh,  Mary,  Mr.  Brown  has  rung  for  some  hot 
water.  I'm  so  sorry  he  didn't  tell  me,  because  I 
would  not  have  troubled  you  to  get  it." 

And  then  they  heard  the  reply — 

"  Lor',  mum,  don't  speak  of  it.  It's  a  pleasure  to 
wait  on  such  a  nice-mannered  gentleman." 

"Yes,  he  is  nice-mannered,  isn't  he,  Mary?  So 
different  from  what  I  had  been  expecting  all  these 
years — so  much  fatter  too,  Mary.  But  I  am  keeping 
you." 

These  fragments  of  conversation  were  slyly 
relished  in  the  bar-room  ;  and  doubtless,  if  Harry 
Brown  had  known  how  the  neighbours  were  interest- 
ing themselves  in  his  doings,  he  would  have  given 
one  of  his  loud  and  hearty  laughs. 

Not  long  after  a  young  man  entered  the  hotel, 
carrying  a  long  card-board  box. 

"  Who  might  you  want  to  see  ?  " 


NOT   QUITE   AT   HOME.  177 

"  Mrs.  Brown,  who  is  staying  here,  I  believe.  She 
telegraphed  last  evening  for  some  mantles." 

"  Oh,  indeed ! "  said  the  manageress.  "  She  does 
not  lose  much  time,  Lucy,  go  and  announce  the 
mantles." 

Then  turning  to  the  young  man,  she  said— 

"  And  you  come  from  Norwich,  I  suppose  ?  Yes, 
I  thought  so.  About  what  figure  ? — pretty  good 
ones?" 

"  The  very  best  we  have  in  stock,  ma'am.  Tele- 
gram said,  '  Bring  the  best  you  have.'  I  dare  say 
she  is  a  rich  lady." 

"  She  is  to-day ;  yesterday  she  was  a  poor,  lone 
widow." 

And  then  the  story  was  told  over  again,  with 
interruptions,  and  corrections,  and  comments  from 
Mr.  Smithson,  Mr.  Cook,  from  the  head  waiter  and 
the  coast-guard,  who  had  just  looked  in,  and  was 
but  barely  finished  when  Lucy  came  back  to  say— 

"  It's  as  good  as  a  play,  mum.  Aunt  B — I  should 
say,  Mrs.  Brown — she  stopped  a-pouring  out  the 
coffee,  and  said,  '  I  don't  expect  any  mantles,  thank 
you ;  it  must  be  a  mistake ! '  But  Mr.  Brown,  he 
lays  his  knife  and  fork  down,  and  turns  hisself  to 
where  I  stood,  and,  says  he,  with  a  wink  and  a  nod, 
says  he,  '  It's  all  right,  Lucy ;  trot  him  upstairs. 
They're  for  me,  Mrs.  Brown.  If  you  can't  do  with 
a  new  mantle,  then  I  must  put  it  on  my  back.' 
And  he  fell  to  laughing  that  merry  I  couldn't  help 
joining  in." 

"I'd  give  a  shilling  to  see  her  face  when  she 
opens  the  box,"  said  the  manageress,  with  a  touch 
of  regret  in  her  voice.  It  did  seem  rather  hard  to 
her  just  now,  that  so  many  earthly  blessings  were 
being  heaped  on  the  back  of  this  woman,  who  was, 
after  all,  not  at  all  prepared  to  receive  them,  or 
perhaps  to  appreciate  them. 

N 


178  VELVETEENS. 

The  young  man  and  Lucy  went  up  to  the  Browns' 
room,  while  those  below  waited  rather  silently :  they 
would  not  have  liked  to  say  they  were  listening ; 
but  human  nature  is  human  nature,  especially  in 
out-of-the-way  villages. 

"You're  wanted,  mum,"  said  Lucy,  excitedly. 
"She  can't  decide  nohow,  and  says  you  must  help 
her." 

"  Well,  I  never  did ! "  cried  the  manageress, 
dropping  her  stitches,  and  rushing  to  the  stairs. 

"  That's  right, "  said  Mr.  Brown,  as  she  entered 
the  sitting-room  ;  "  now  we  shall  get  criticism  :  when 
two  women  get  together,  you  may  be  sure  of  faults 
being  found.  Mrs.  Brown  by  herself  can  only  say, 
'  It  is  too  pretty  !" 

"  I  am  sure  I  am  only  too  pleased  to  lend  my 
poor  powers  of  taste  to— 

"  Yes,  I  knew  you  would  be  a  regular  stunner  at 
that  sort  of  thing.  You're  rather  fond  of  dress  your- 
self, now?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Brown  !>"  cried  the  manageress,  half 
pleased  and  half  angry  at  the  soft  impeachment. 

There  lay  the  mantles  on  the  sofa  and  on  the 
easy-chairs,  inviting  criticism  and  admiration. 

"  They  are  too  good  for  me.  I  should  look  a 
Jezebel  in  such  beautiful  raiment.  My  friends 
would  say  I  was  stuck-up  and  proud,  Harry.  Do 
let  me  wear  out  my  old  cloth  jacket  first — do, 
Harry ! " 

"  There  now !  did  any  one  ever  see  such  a  con- 
tradictious woman  ?  I  telegraphed  last  night  for 
these  things  in  order  to  please  her,  and  she  wants 
to  go  on  with  her  old  clothes,  just  to  avoid  the 
jealousy  of  her  neighbours !  I  tell  you  what  it  is, 
Bessie,  if  you  make  any  more  fuss  about  it,  I'll 
order  in  a  hundred  mantles,  and  dress  up  the 
whole  village,  Why,  bless  my  soul!  she  won't 


NOT  QUITE   AT  HOME.  179 

believe  I  can  afford  to  pay  for  them.  Here,  Lucy, 
ring  up  all  the  servants.  Let's  have  'em  all  in  the 
room.  They  shall  have  these  mantles." 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  cried  his  wife, 
opening  her  large  black  eyes  very  wide. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  dotty !  I  know  what  I'm  about, 
Bess ;  but,  as  you  say,  when  a  man  comes  home 
after  he  has  been  thought  dead,  and  finJs  a  good, 
economical  wife  waiting  for  him,  he  must  make  an 
offering  of  thanksgiving.  See !  here  they  come — 
all  grinning ;  aye,  I'll  make  you  grin  before  the 
day's  out.  Now,  then,  Mrs.  Brown,  before  you 
select  your  mantles,  I  must  ask  you  to  give  each 
of  these  honest  people  the  little  gold  coin  you 
propose  to  confer  upon  them." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Harry  ? "  asked  his  be- 
wildered wife. 

Whereupon  Mr.  Brown  pulled  out  his  purse,  and 
pouring  out  a  golden  shower  of  half-sovereigns  on 
the  white  tablecloth,  he  nodded  to  his  wife,  and 
said — 

"  It  is  your  present,  Bess :  one  each — and  our 
blessing." 

Smiles  broke  out  all  round  the  room,  and  Mrs. 
Brown  said — 

"I  am  very  glad  to  let  you  share  in  this  small 
\vay  in  my  great  happiness ;  but  it  is  my  husband's 
present,  not  mine.  You  know  I  have  nothing  to 
give  you  but  my  thanks  for  your  sympathy.  Well, 
if  you  will  accept  these  golden  tokens,  I  shall  be 
much  obliged  to  you  all." 

Accept  them  ?  I  should  just  think  they  did  !  Why, 
the  little  sitting-room  echoed  with  "  Bless  you ! " 
and  "  Thank  you,  kindly !  "  And  the  young  man 
with  the  mantles  seemed  infected  by  the  contagion 
too,  for  he  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  though  he  had 
as  yet  had  no  mineral  in  his  palm.  Yet,  when 


ISO  VELVETEENS. 

the  servants  had  gone  their  way  rejoicing,  he 
seriously  recalled  the  company  to  a  criticism  of  his 
goods. 

"  Now,  ma'am,  here's  a  black  cashmere,  trimmed 
with  lace  and  beaded  gimp,  which  would  fit  you 
charmingly." 

But  the  manageress  broke  in  with,  "Oh,  Mrs. 
Brown,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  take  this  grey  cloth 
mantle ;  the  gold  braid  does  look  so  sweet,  and  the 
hood — see !  it  is  lined  with  crimson  silk.  Oh,  what 
a  duck  of  a  mantle,  to  be  sure ! " 

"  I  should  not  dream  of  wearing  one  with  gold 
braid  ;  it  would  be  ridiculous  in  me,  would  it  not, 
Harry?" 

"  You  shall  choose  your  own,  Bess.  I  only  asked 
Miss  Hunter  up  to  give  you  a  fillip ;  your  taste 
is  neat  and  not  gaudy,  is  it  not  ? " 

"It  is,  darling.  I  like  this  black  mantle  best, 
Harry ;  it  is  neat  and  quiet.  May  I  have  this, 
darling?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  admire  your  choice,  Bess :  black 
silk,  Spanish  lace,  I  believe  ?  Yes,  he  says  Spanish 
lace,  and  trimmed  with  jet ;  very  quiet  and  yet 
good." 

The  young  man  rejoined  with  a  smile — 

"  Oh,  sir !  it's  real  Spanish  lace  ;  that's  the  most 
expensive  of  all  the  mantles  we  have  in  stock." 

"  Is  it  ?  Oh,  I  won't  have  it,  then !  I  couldn't 
think  of  it." 

"  Yes,  you  could,  sweet  Bess  ;  the  mantle's  yours. 
Put  it  aside,  please,  Mr.  What's-your-name." 

"  Oh,  Harry,  please  don't ;  I  really  did  not  know." 

"  H'm !  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that ;  you're  a  bit  of 
a  sly  puss,  after  all,  I'm  thinking.  You've  carefully 
picked  out  the  most  expensive  article,  while  you 
were  pretending  all  the  time  you  wanted  a  cheap 
thing," 


NOT  QUITE  AT  HOME, 


1SI 


Here  Brown  rolled  about  the  sofa  in  agonies  of 
laughter.  Mrs.  Brown  was  in  a  whimsical  distress ; 
everybody  was  laughing.  Well,  she  couldn't  hold 
out  against  the  world,  so  she  laughed  too,  kissed 
her  husband,  and  called  him  "  A  naughty  man  ;  on 
the  high  road  to  ruin."  Then  they  chose  a  neat 
mantle  for  Jean  Forbes,  and  ordered  half  a  dozen 
pairs  of  gloves  for  the  manageress.  And  so  they 
began  auspiciously  their  first  day  of  married  life 
together,  forgetting  that  the  joy-bells  had  pealed 
so  many  years  ago,  forgetting  their  past  troubles 
in  their  present  bliss. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

HOW   GILES   KEPT   HIS   WORD. 

•HEN  Jean  Forbes  got  up  in  the  morning 
and  entered  the  kitchen,  she  found  her 
brother  sitting  by  the  table  ;  his  head 
was  resting  on  one  hand,  and  he  was 
asleep. 

"  Ah,  poor  fellow  ! "  she  said  to  herself ;  "  he  has 
been  out  all  night,  and  has  come  home  so  tired 
that  he  has  fallen  asleep  as  he  sat."  And  she  went 
quietly  about  her  work,  glancing  at  his  face  from 
time  to  time. 

The  yellow  hair  had  fallen  about  his  freckled 
brow ;  his  sleep  was  disturbed,  he  even  murmured 
from  time  to  time.  Jean  opened  the  window,  and 
in  came  the  fresh  morning  air,  laden  with  scent  of 
sweet-smelling  stocks  and  old-fashioned  wallflower 
and  sweet-brier,  and  many  another  flower  and  shrub. 
"  Minnie !  Minnie ! " 

Jean  paused  in  her  work ;  the  words  were  pro- 
nounced so  clearly,  and  with  such  sadness  of  tone, 
that  she  felt  she  must  wake  the  sleeper. 

"Angus!"  she  said,  giving  her  brother  a  little 
shake. 

"What  is  it?"  the  young  man  asked,  awakening 


HOW  GILES   KEPT   HIS  WORD.  183 

with  a  start,  and  staring  wildly  around.    "  Oh,  Jean, 
is  it  you  ?    I  must  have  been  dreaming." 

"  Yes,  you  were ;  so  I  roused  you.  Go  to  bed 
for  a  few  hours,  Angus ;  you  give  yourself  too 
little  sleep." 

"There  is  so  much  to  do  now,  with  all  these 
eggs  about." 

"I  wouldn't  be  so  particular  about  preserving 
the  eggs.  You  get  no  credit  for  anything  you  do 
now." 

"Yes,  I  do,  Jeannie.  You  forget;  there  is  some 
One  who  sees  me  when  I  do  my  duty.  Oh,  I  am 
sleepy ! " 

The  young  keeper  stretched  himself  almost  from 
ceiling  to  floor.  As  he  was  leaving  the  room  he 
turned,  and  said — 

"  I  have  been  in  temptation,  lassie,  the  night ; 
but,  thank  God,  I  have  come  out  clear." 

Jean  noticed  the  serious  expression  in  his  blue 
eyes,  and  said,  as  she  caught  his  coat  with  both 
hands — 

"Temptation,  Angus?  Nothing  very  bad,  I 
hope?" 

"I  hardly  like  to  tell  you  how  wicked  I  have 
been.  The  fact  is,  when  I  was  on  my  beat  last 
night,  I  heard  low  voices  quite  close  to  me.  One 
was  Harry  Bent's,  the  other  was — who  do  you 
think  ?  why,  Giles  Fletcher's !  I  could  have  shot 
him,  and  saved  poor  Minnie  a  life  of  misery.  I 
seemed,  too,  to  see  father's  face  in  the  long  fern  ; 
and  oh !  I  was  so  tempted  to  pay  him  off  for  that 
murderous  shot  in  the  fir  plantation." 

"  But  you  didn't,  Angus  ? " 

"  No,  I  laid  down  my  gun,  and  just  jumped  on 
his  back  like  a  tiger.  Harry  Bent  was  off  like  a 
hen-grouse,  and  Giles  fell  underneath  me  like  an  ox 
at  the  butcher's ;  there  was  no  need  to  throttle  him." 


1 84  VELVETEENS. 

"  Angus,  how  your  eyes  flash !  You  didn't  hurt 
him?" 

"Not  much,  lassie.  I  only  let  him  feel  I  was 
his  master,  that  was  all.  ' Giles/  said  I,  'you  know 
very  well  that  I  could  kill  you  now  if  I  liked.'  He 
groaned,  and  said  something  about  '  Would  I  spare 
him  ? '  '  Yes/  said  I,  '  on  one  condition  :  tell  me 
why  you  killed  my  father  ? '  He  wouldn't  speak  ; 
so  I  said,  'You  needn't  fear  I  shall  bring  you  to 
trouble  about  it ;  I'm  not  that  sort.  I  don't  want 
to  see  you  hanged  at  Norwich.  Minnie  Fletcher 
loves  you,  and  that  alone — that,  and  nothing  else, 
saves  your  life.  So  speak  the  truth,  and  fear 
nothing.  Why  did  you  kill  him,  Giles  ? '  " 

" '  It  was  a  mistake  ;   I  never  meant  to/  he  said. 

" '  Bah ! '  said  I,  tightening  my  grip  about  his 
neck;  'tell  the  truth,  or  I'll  strangle  you  in  the 
bracken.' 

"  Then  he  gasped,  and  put  out  his  tongue  ;  there 
was  moonlight  enough  to  see  it :  so  I  let  go  a  bit, 
and  said,  'Come,  lad,  tell  the  truth,  and  I'll  let 
you  go  free  ;  but  you  shall  never  marry  Minnie,  mind 
that ;  try,  and  I  give  you  up  to  justice/ 

"  He  took  a  minute  or  two  to  get  his  breath  back, 
and  looked  up  at  my  face  the  while.  Then  he 
whimpered — 

" '  Don't  hurt  me,  Forbes,  and  I'll  tell  you  true — 
I  will  indeed.' 

"  I  still  sat  astride  him,  but  I  let  go  of  his  neck. 
'  Speak  out/  I  said,  '  and  never  fear ;  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  poor  Minnie,  I'd  ha'  given  you  over  to 
justice  long  ago.  I  have  evidence  enough  to  hang 
you,  Giles ;  but,  though  you  have  murdered  my 
father,  I  leave  the  punishment  to  God,  and  to 
your  conscience/ 

"  His  eye  was  on  mine  all  the  time  I  was  speak- 
ing. I  could  see  he  was  calculating  his  chances ; 


MOW   GILES   KEPT  HIS  WORD.  185 

he  lay  as  quiet  as  a  hare  that  you  have  surprised  in 
her  form,  and  she  lies  with  her  ears  back,  waiting 
for  the  stroke  of  death,  and  can't  move  for  the 
fright  o't. 

"'  Angus  Forbes,'  says  he  at  last,  with  a  gasp, 
'  forgive  me,  if  you  can :  it  was  you  I  meant  to 
kill  in  the  fir  wood  yonder ;  but  in  the  dark  I 
mistook  my  man,  and  shot  your  poor  father  by 
accident.  I  am  very  sorry  ;  I  never  had  any  grudge 
against  him  ;  he  was  a  good,  well-spoken  man,  and 
I  am  real  sorry  I  done  it.' 

"  Jean,  lass,  when  he  told  me  that,  half  my  anger 
against  him  was  gone ;  but  I  asked  him  why  he 
wanted  to  kill  me. 

"'You  came  between  me  and  Minnie  Fletcher; 
I  was  mad  with  jealousy.  There !  I've  told  you 
now !  It  came  upon  me  all  in  a  moment  like.  I 
never  meant  nothing  of  the  sort,  till  I  heard  you 
talking  in  the  wood.  I  fired,  and  it  has  done  me 
no  good — no  good !  only  made  me  a  worse  man. 
So  now,  kill  me,  and  take  your  revenge.' 

" '  No,  no,  Giles/  said  I,  quietly.  '  I  am  glad 
you  did  not  mean  to  kill  poor  father ;  because  I 
have  always  had  a  sort  o'  feeling  that  it  was  my 
duty  to  do  something  in  satisfaction  of  his  blood  ; 
but  if  it  was  only  me  you  meant  to  kill,  that's 
another  matter.  I  know  what  jealousy  is,  lad.  I 
could  have  killed  you  just  now,  if  I  had  given  way 
to  it.  Get  up  and  go  home.  You  will  hear  no  more 
of  this  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  leave  you  to 
the  great  Judge  of  all  the  earth.' 

"  He  got  up  and  staggered  to  his  feet.  '  I  want 
to  thank  you,'  he  said,  in  a  trembling  voice ;  '  but 
I  feel  shaky  all  over.' 

"  Well,  lass,  the  upshot  was,  I  had  to  half  carry 
him  through  the  ling  till  we  got  to  the  sandy 
lane.  I  read  him  a  sermon  as  we  went,  and  I  told 


1 86  VELVETEENS. 

him,  if  he  wanted  to  show  his  gratitude  to  me, 
and  repentance  for  his  fault,  the  best  way  was  to 
leave  off  his  evil  ways,  and  try  and  make  a  happy 
home  for  his  mother." 

Jean  had  been  leaning  her  forehead  against  the 
chimney-piece ;  she  turned  and  kissed  her  brother, 
and  a  tear  stood  in  her  eyes,  as  she  exclaimed — 

"  Well  done,  Angus ;  you  have  won  the  finest 
victory  you  ever  did  in  your  life." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  Jeannie  ?  But  it  has  cost  me 
dear."  And  the  young  man  sighed,  as  he  rubbed 
the  back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"I  know  it  has.  You  love  her  still,  and  if  she 
only  knew  you  and  Giles — if  she  knew  your  hearts 
as  well  as  she  knows  your  faces,  she  would  not 
hesitate  nor  doubt  which  of  the  two  she  ought  to 
marry." 

"  Well,  I'll  go  and  get  a  bit  o'  sleep.  Don't  you 
tell  any  one  about  last  night's  work,  Jean." 

When  Angus  had  gone  to  his  room,  his  sister 
began  revolving  plans  for  informing  Minnie  more 
fully  about  her  sweetheart's  sinfulness ;  but  she 
was  met  by  difficulties  at  every  turn.  Minnie 
would  indignantly  deny  the  charges ;  it  would 
be  necessary  to  bring  forward  the  evidence.  This 
might  get  about,  and  lead  to  Giles  being  hanged  ; 
and  this  conclusion  she  shrank  from  with  horror. 
Still,  it  did  seem  to  her  almost  wicked  to  let  Giles 
Fletcher  go  about  unpunished,  with  that  dreadful 
deed  of  blood  scored  against  him  ;  and  all  that 
morning,  as  Jean  busied  herself  about  her  duties,  she 
kept  pondering  these  things  in  her  mind. 

As  she  and  Willie  sat  at  breakfast  they  heard  a 
horse  come  up  the  hill,  and  the  sound  stopped  at 
their  gate.  Presently  the  latch  of  the  garden  gate 
clicked,  and  the  ruddy,  smiling  face  of  the  head 
groom  at  the  hotel  showed  at  the  open  door. 


HOW   GILES   KEPT    HIS   WORD.  187 

"  Good  morning,  Miss  Forbes.  I've  got  a  largish 
parcel  for  you — and  a  note." 

"  Do  sit  down,  Mr.  Henderson,"  said  Jean,  offer- 
ing a  chair  ;  "  it  is  very  good  of  you  to  come  with  it." 

Mr.  Henderson  winked  at  Willie  as  he  remarked, 
"  Don't  know  much  about  that.  Mr.  Brown  yonder — 
him  as  was  drownded  years  back,  you  know — least- 
ways folks  thought  he  ought  to  ha'  been H'm  ! 

where  was  I,  Miss  Forbes?" 

Mr.  Henderson,  having  lost  the  thread  of  his 
discourse,  was  curry-combing  his  back  hair  in  a 
pretty  despair  with  the  note  which  he  was  to 
deliver. 

"You  were  saying  something  about  Mr.  Brown," 
said  Willie. 

"  So  I  was — and  here  it  is,"  he  cried,  thumping 
his  thigh  and  fetching  out  half  a  crown  which  he 
held  up  for  Willie's  admiration:  "that's  something 
like  a  gentleman  I  reckon — that  free  he  is  with 
his  gold.  Why,  we  had  ten  bob  all  round  before 
breakfast  this  morning ;  and  says  he,  '  Just  ride  up 
with  this  parcel,  Henderson ' — he  called  me  Hender- 
son as  pat  as  if  he  had  known  me  for  years 

Let  me  see — where  was  I  ? " 

" '  Ride  up  with  this  parcel,'  "  said  Willie,  laughing. 

"  Well  done,  young  un  !  A  bright  boy,  Miss  Forbes, 
and  will  do  you  credit  some  day.  I  say,  Willie, 
just  run  out  and  see  if  my  mare  is  safe ;  I  tied 
her  to  the  gate.  That's  a  good  boy!  Now,  Miss 
Forbes,  excuse  me  asking  you  again.  I  didn't  like 
to  do  it  afore  that  bright  boy — he  was  fit  to  laugh 
at  me  just  now — but  I  get  that  muddled — could 
you  kindly  say — I've  partly  forgotten — in  short, 
where  was  I  ? " 

"  You  were  saying  that  Mr.  Brown  had  asked  you 
to  ride  up  with  the  parcel,"  said  Jean.  "  Perhaps,  if 
it  really  is  for  me,  I  had  better  see  what's  in  it 


1 88  VELVETEENS. 

And  the  letter,  Mr.  Henderson,  please,  if  you  don't 
mind.  Thanks  !  Now,  while  I'm  reading  it,  do  have 
a  cup  of  tea." 

"Well,  no,  not  this  morning,  thank  you  ;  I've  not 
tasted  tea  since  I  was  confirmed." 

"  Not  a  confirmed  drunkard,  I  hope  ? "  said  Jean, 
playfully. 

"  Oh,  that's  a  little  too  bad,"  said  Mr.  Henderson, 
giggling  bashfully,  while  his  nose  blushed  at  such 
a  suggestion  ;  "  it's  a  little  too  bad  !  But  there,  now ! 
you  pretty  girls  can  say  anything — you  know  you 
can." 

"  Hush,  Mr.  Henderson,  you  are  a  married 
man." 

"  I  grieve  to  say  I  am,"  he  replied,  with  a  sigh, 
putting  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  winking  at  the 
tall  eight-day  clock,  that  seemed  to  stiffen  at  the 
indignity.  He  then  laughed,  so  loudly  that  Jean  was 
obliged  to  caution  him,  lest  he  should  wake  her 
brother. 

Willie  had  returned.    "  The  horse  is  safe  enough, 

eating  the  hedge,  and Oh  my !  Jean,  what  a 

beautiful  cloak  you've  got,  to  be  sure  ! " 

"  It  is,  Willie.    Mr.  Brown  has  sent  it  for  me." 

Mr.  Henderson  got  up,  and  walked  round  Jean 
three  times,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  a  ghost 
of  a  hiss  seemed  to  come  from  his  lips,  as  if  he 
were  grooming  her  in  fancy. 

"I  must  run  down  and  thank  Aunt  Bessie  for 
this,"  said  Jean ;  "so  I  won't  keep  you  waiting." 

"But  you  haven't  read  the  letter,"  replied  Mr. 
Henderson,  in  an  injured  air ;  for  he  had  scientific 
leanings,  and  always  wanted  to  know  what  things 
were  made  of. 

As  Jean,  after  reading  the  letter,  made  no  allusion 
to  its  contents,  Mr.  Henderson  felt  himself  obliged 
to  fence  a  little,  and  try  to  worm  out  the  secret. 


HOW  GILES   KEPT  HIS   WORD.  189 

"I  dare  say,  now,  he's  writ  you  a  mighty  civil 
letter?" 

"Yes,  very  kind  indeed.    It's  from  Mrs.  Brown." 

"P'raps  it's  hoping  you  may  live  to  enjoy  the 
present  ? " 

"  Well,  Mr.  Henderson,  perhaps  it  is — and  perhaps 
it  isn't ;  anyhow,  you  can  say  we  will  come  down 
to-night." 

"  Oh !  it's  dinner,  is  it  ?    You'll  get  a  first-rater." 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  have  good  things  going ; 
though  it's  out  of  the  season  now,  and  delicacies 
are  scarce." 

"  Ah,  but  they  can  get  them  for  a  real  gentleman 
like  Mr.  Brown.  Just  fancy  Aunt  Bessie  falling 
on  her  feet  like  that !  Why,  I  remember  her  a  little 
bare-legged,  skinny  lass— 

"  Hush  !  You  forget  the  half-sovereigns  and  the 
half-crown." 

"  No,  I  don't.  But  you're  right,  Miss  Forbes ; 
there  may  be  more  to  follow.  Don't  do  to  look  a 
gift-horse  in  the  mouth.  Well,  good  morning,  miss  ; 
good  morning." 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

A    LATE    REPENTANCE. 

HEN  Henderson  had  gone,  Jean  sat  down 
by  the  open  window,  and  carefully  read 
her  letter. 


"  MY  DEAREST  JEAN, 

"  The  more  I  think  of  my  happiness  the 
more  I  feel  your  kindness  to  me  the  other  day ; 
and  dear  Harry  is  quite  taken  with  your  brother's 
frank  face,  and  he  wants  you  both  to  come  and 
dine  at  seven  to-night.  It's  like  playing  at  being 
quality,  I  know,  to  dine  at  that  absurd  time,  but  he 
will  do  it.  He  says  he  must  have  you  both  in  Aus- 
tralia to  help  on  the  sheep-run  ;  and  we're  all  to 
be  friends  together,  Jean.  I  shall  be  so  glad  if 
you  will  come,  for  you  will  help  me  to  be  saving 
— you're  Scotch,  and  you  know  what  a  penny  is 
worth.  If  we  stay  here  much  longer,  we  shall 
surely  be  ruined ;  for  the  money's  running  out 
like  sand  from  a  child's  pocket.  Harry  has  given 
me  a  beautiful  mantle,  I  chose  the  most  expensive 
of  the  lot  quite  by  mistake,  and  he  won't  let  me 


A  LATE   REPENTANCE.  19 1 

go  back  on  it.     This  other  he  sends  to  you  with 
his  and  my  love. 

"Yours  affectionately, 

"BESSIE  BROWN." 

Jean  read  this  twice,  and  was  thinking  over  a 
suitable  reply  to  send  by  Willie,  when  Mr.  Fraser, 
the  Vicar,  with  his  smiling  daughter,  came  up  the 
path. 

Jean  ran  out  with  a  flushed  face  to  meet  them. 

"  Oh,  sir,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you !  Come  in,  Miss 
Fraser.  It's  a  nice  morning,  isn't  it  ? " 

"Charming,"  said  the  Vicar.  "And  how  is  your 
brother  ?  Has  he  heard  of  anything  yet  that  will 
suit  him  ? " 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Jean,  putting  out  her  letter, 
and  turning  it  over  tenderly,  "here's  a  letter  come 
from  Mrs.  Brown — that  is  Aunt  Bessy,  you  know, 
—and  they  want  Angus  and  me  to  go  back  with 
them  to  Australia." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  you  couldn't  do  better.  I 
hear  he  has  got  money  somehow.  Do  you  know 
how  ? " 

"  Oh  yes ;  he  has  told  us  all  about  it.  He  was 
kind  to  an  Australian  gentleman  when  they  were 
wrecked  together,  and,  when  the  gentleman  died, 
he  left  his  sheep-run  to  Mr.  Brown." 

"  The  Browns  are  well  known  hereabouts  ;  it  looks 
very  promising.  What  does  your  brother  think 
about  it  ? " 

"  Angus  has  not  seen  the  letter  yet,  sir ;  he  was 
out  all  night,  and  has  gone  to  bed  for  a  few  hours. 
But  we  have  talked  it  over  before,  and  he  said 
that  it  looked  honest.  Shall  I  tell  him  you  think 
well  of  it  ? " 

"  Certainly ;  as  far  as  I  can  gather,  Mr.  Brown 
is  a  man  of  wealth,  and  able  to  perform  what  he 


Ip2  VELVETEENS. 

promises.  We  shall  be  having  Giles  Fletcher's 
wedding  in  a  few  days.  Has  your  brother  reconciled 
himself  to  his  fate  yet  ? " 

"He  never  owns  to  any  sorrow  over  Minnie  ;  but 
I  can  see  many  signs  of — well,  I  won't  say  a  broken 
heart ;  for  he's  too  much  of  a  man  to  fret  his  heart 
out,  when  there's  work  to  be  done." 

"  Yes  ;  he  is  a  fine  fellow,  isn't  he,  Lucy  ? " 

"A  great  deal  too  good  for  Minnie  Fletcher — with 
my  kind  regards,"  said  Lucy  Fraser,  indignantly. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Lucy.  I'll  tell  him  what  you 
say." 

The  Rev.  C.  Fraser  and  his  daughter  had  a  visit 
to  make,  two  miles  away.  They  passed  through 
the  village,  and  up  a  steep  lane,  and  across  the 
heath,  and  through  a  fir  wood,  down  into  a  sandy 
lane,  and  up  again,  clambering  in  the  loose  dry 
soil,  beneath  the  young  firs,  until  they  reached 
the  open  top,  from  whence  they  could  see  the  blue 
waters  of  the  North  Sea  over  the  green  wood 
below  them,  while  the  red  roofs  of  the  houses  in 
the  hamlet  glistened  prettily  between  the  waving 
branches. 

As  they  paused  for  a  moment  to  enjoy  the  view, 
heather  beneath  their  feet  and  all  round  them, 
larches  and  evergreens  before  them,  and,  between 
them  and  the  sea,  rolling  hills  and  wooded  valley, 
while  the  scent  of  pines  pervaded  the  fine  sea-breeze, 
and  the  hum  of  insect  life  thrilled  through  all,  they 
were  conscious  of  a  human  voice  not  far  off;  yes, 
there,  behind  yon  filbert-bush  sat  a  man  and  woman, 
engaged  in  close  conversation. 

"Strangers!"  murmured  Lucy  Fraser  to  her 
father. 

"  Yes,  let  us  look  at  them ;  it  is  early  for 
strangers  to  visit  the  coast.  Why,  to  be  sure !  if 
it  isn't  Mrs.  Brown!  How  do  you  do,  my  dear 


A   LATE   REPENTANCE.  193 

friend  ?  You  must  introduce  me  to  your  husband. 
I  had  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  him.  Thank 
you,  sir ;  and  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
This  is  my  daughter,  Lucy." 

Brown  and  his  wife  had  risen  to  greet  the  Vicar, 
and,  after  the  first  few  words  had  passed,  Aunt 
Bessie  asked  Mr.  Fraser  to  step  aside  with  her,  as 
she  had  something  to  say. 

"  Willingly,  Mrs.  Brown ;  and  Mr.  Brown  shall 
instruct  Lucy  in  the  mysteries  of  bush-life." 

"  You  see,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  fixing  her  dark 
eyes  on  the  Vicar's  handsome  face  ;  "  we  were  talk- 
ing about  that  marriage  of  Minnie  Fletcher's." 

"Ah!  she  has  been  very  headstrong  about  it, 
poor  child." 

"  But  we  must  stop  it ;  it  cannot  take  place,  sir." 

The  woman's  tone  startled  Mr.  Fraser.  Was  she 
wandering  in  mind  now?  He  glanced  sharply  at 
her  more  than  once. 

"I've  been  telling  my  husband,  and  he  agrees 
with  me,  that  the  marriage  must  be  prevented." 

"  But  things  have  gone  too  far,  Mrs.  Brown ; 
they  have  been  asked  three  times  in  Church." 

"I  don't  care  if  they've  been  asked  thirty 
times !  I  beg  pardon,  if  I  am  rude  ;  but  the  more 
I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  feel  it  is  our  duty  to  stop 
it.  If  you  knew— 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  I  know  your  facts  ? " 

"Because  they  are  so  disgraceful.  You  might 
think  it  your  duty  to  follow  them  up,  and  get  some 
one  into  trouble." 

"It  is  not  the  duty  of  a  parish  priest  to  act  as 
a  constable,  nor  even  as  a  minister  of  justice.  What 
you  tell  me  in  confidence,  Mrs.  Brown,  shall  go  no 
further  than  you  wish.  If  my  advice  can  be  any 
help  to  you,  you  have  only  to  ask  it." 

"Let  us  sit  on  this  heathery  bank  a  minute  or 

o 


194  VELVETEENS. 

two,  sir,  while  I  tell  you  why  Giles  is  no  fit  mate 
for  our  Minnie." 

"You  are  going  to  speak  of  his  poaching,  perhaps?" 

"  I  might ;  a  poacher  makes  a  bad  husband,  but 
a  murderer  makes  a  worse." 

"  Good  gracious  !  a  murderer !  You  don't  mean 
it  really  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  sir ;  sorry  am  I  to  say  it,  seeing 
Giles  is  a  Fletcher,  of  Nether  Beckthorp,  as  we  all 
are  :  what  touches  one  touches  all." 

"  But,  my  good  woman,  it  is  a  very  serious  charge 
to  bring  against  a  man,  and  should  only  be  said 
on  very  good  evidence." 

"  So  my  husband  says ;  but  I  have  satisfied  him 
it  is  true.  Giles  shot  old  Mr.  Forbes,  the  Squire's 
head  keeper!" 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ? " 

"His  ram-rod  was  found  near  the  body." 

"  That  might  lead  to  suspicion,  Mrs.  Brown  ;  but 
it  does  not  prove  that  Giles  fired  the  shot." 

"  No,  perhaps  not ;  but  Giles  was  out  that  night 
with  some  poachers,  and  came  home  with  a  dog's 
teeth-marks  in  his  coat." 

"  Well  ? " 

"It  seems  that  Mr.  Forbes's  mastiff — a  dog  that 
ain't  like  to  make  mistakes,  as  you  know — tracked 
the  murderer." 

"  Ha !  still,  Giles  might  have  been  defending  his 
friend,  who  had  been  using  his  gun." 

"Well,  there  was  an  old  man — an  old  poacher — 
employed  by  the  Squire  in  mending  hedges  ;  one 
day  he  let  out  to  young  Forbes  that — well,  he  let 
out  as  much  as  to  say  that  Giles  had  done  it." 

"Who  told  you  this?" 

"Jean  Forbes  had  it  from  her  brother,  and  told 
me  in  confidence." 

"Where  is  that  old  man  you  speak  of?" 


A  LATE  REPENTANCE.  195 

"That's  what  I'm  coming  to,  sir.  It  seems  old 
George  thought  he  had  a  hold  over  Giles,  knowing 
as  he  did  who  shot  Mr.  Forbes ;  and  it  is  thought 
he  tried  to  get  money  out  o'  Giles." 

"  But  this  is  not  evidence,  Mrs.  Brown  ;  this  is 
hearsay  and  opinion." 

"  Oh,  I  ask  pardon !  I'm  not  clever  in  lawyer's 
lingo.  I  only  go  by  facts ;  and  what  I  see,  I 
believe." 

"  Very  well ;  then  what  fact  have  you  got  to  found 
your  story  on  ?  " 

Mrs.  Brown  fumbled  in  her  pocket ;  then  she 
remembered  she  was  wearing  a  new  cloak,  and 
muttered,  as  she  got  up  and  pulled  up  her  skirt, 
and  rummaged  in  a  secret  pocket— 

"  I'd  a'most  forgotten  he'd  come  home  and  given 
me  a  new  cloak ;  these  things  do  flummox  a  body 
so." 

At  last  she  pulled  out  a  bit  of  silk — coloured 
silk,  rather  the  worse  for  wear — from  her  petticoat- 
pocket,  and  held  it  out— 

"This  fact — this  fact — it  wants  a  lot  of  explaining." 

Mr.  Fraser  took  it,  saying,  "And  what  may  this 
be?" 

"A  bit  of  Giles  Fletcher's  neck-tie,  your  rever- 
ence." 

"  Very  well ;  and  you  found  it  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  found  it — I  found  it,  sir.  Dear  me  !  my 
head  is  giving  way.  After  all,  we  have  no  right  to 
judge  one  another." 

Mrs.  Brown  was  murmuring  to  herself  rather  than 
talking  to  the  Vicar ;  she  ended  by  thrusting  the 
neck-tie  back  into  her  pocket. 

The  Vicar  glanced  sharply  at  her ;  it  must  be 
another  of  her  delusions,  he  thought.  It  will  be 
serious  work  trying  to  fasten  such  a  charge  on  the 
lad  upon  the  evidence  of  such  a  woman. 


196  VELVETEENS. 

"  Come,  Mrs.  Brown,"  he  said,  in  a  gentle  tone, 
"  try  and  collect  your  thoughts  ;  how  do  you  bring 
this  bit  of  stuff  in  as  evidence  against  Giles? 
What  has  the  tie  to  do  with  it  ? " 

"  The  tie  ?  Poor  lad !  I  gave  him  that  tie  ;  it 
was  a  birthday  present ;  I  bought  it  of  a  hawker 
down  town." 

"Well,  can't  you  tell  me  how  you  connect  it  with 
the  murder?" 

"No,  I  solidly  can't,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  shaking 
her  head,  and  picking  a  leaf  to  pieces.  "  I've  gone 
and  jumbled  up  two  things  together.  Now  I  come 
to  think  it  over,  I  find  the  neck-tie  had  nothing  to 
do  with  the  murder  of  Mr.  Forbes." 

Aunt  Bessie  had  relented  at  the  last  moment, 
and  could  not  bring  herself  to  give  the  fatal  evi- 
dence ;  she  went  on — • 

"  But  don'.t  you  think,  sir,  that  the  finding  of  the 
ram-rod,  and  the  cutting  of  his  coat,  and  the  wortis 
of  old  George,  and  the  growling  of  the  mastiff 
whenever  she  sees  Giles  (for  that's  what  they  say 
she  does) — don't  you  think  all  that  makes  it  look 
very  ugly  for  the  boy,  Mr.  Fraser  ? " 

"  I  do,  indeed ;  it  is  so  ugly  that  I  think  you  are 
quite  warranted  in  doing  all  you  can  to  stop  the 
marriage.  If  he  is  innocent  he  will  not  be  frightened 
by  your  charges,  and  if  he  be  guilty,  he  will  take 
flight  as  soon  as  he  hears  them.  We  must  not, 
however,  lend  ourselves  to  any  scheme  for  defeat- 
ing justice.  You  may  be  called  upon  for  your  evi- 
dence, some  day,  if  more  facts  come  to  light,  but 
I  don't  think  you  are  bound  to  take  the  first 
steps." 

"But,  sir,  I  want  to  stop  the  marriage!" 

"Well,  and  what  do  you  propose  I  should  do  in 
the  matter?" 

"  Send  for  Giles  to  your  house,  and  tell  him  you 


A  LATE  REPENTANCE.  197 

know  all  about  his  goings  on.  Bid  him  give  up 
Minnie,  and  leave  the  country,  or  you  will  have 
the  law  on  him." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Brown,  you  have  a  head  on  your 
shoulders — you  were  the  only  person  in  the  parish 
who  refused  to  believe  that  Mr.  Brown  was  drowned, 
and  now  I  think  you  have  hit  upon  a  plan  which 
may  be  successful.  Here  comes  Mr.  Brown  ;  we  will 
ask  him.  Mr.  Brown,  I  have  heard  this  sad  story 
about  Giles  Fletcher,  and  your  wife  suggests  that 
I  should  send  for  the  lad,  and  tell  him  he  must 
submit  to  a  searching  inquiry  into  his  conduct 
before  the  marriage  can  take  place.  There  seem 
to  be  some  ugly  facts  against  the  boy  ;  circum- 
stantial evidence  may  hang  an  innocent  man,  and 
we  must  be  careful  what  we  do  or  say.  Now,  if  the 
lad  shows  by  his  behaviour  that  he  fears  a  strict 
examination,  and  still  more,  if  he  makes  off  and 
deserts  the  parish,  we  shall  then  be  fully  justified  in 
considering  our  suspicions  well-founded.  I  will 
write  an  abstract  of  the  affair,  and  keep  it  in  readi- 
ness to  send  to  Nonvich  Castle.  It  is  your  wife's 
idea,  sir." 

"Well  done,  Bess!  She  had  been  putting  that 
job  on  me  this  morning  ;  but  I  think,  sir,  tha^  you 
are  in  a  better  position  to  do  it." 

"  It  is  not  a  pleasant  duty ;  but  we  must  not 
allow  poor  Minnie  to  run  into  a  snare,  if  we  can 
help  it.  But  why  should  you  not  be  a  witness  at 
Giles's  visit  to  my  library  ? " 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  come,  and  bring  bowie 
knife  and  revolver  too.  Perhaps  the  sight  of  them 
might  convince  Master  Giles  he  can't  always  have 
his  own  way  in  this  world." 

"To-morrow  evening,  at  six  o'clock — will  that 
suit  you  ? " 

"Quite.    Look,   sir,   there's  my  wife  talking  to 


198  VELVETEENS. 

your  daughter  as  sensible  as  one  could  wish  any 
woman  to  talk.  It's  difficult  to  believe  that  her 
mind  has  been  unhinged." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  see  her  so  contented  and 
restful ;  her  face  has  lost  much  of  that  wild  and 
sorrowful  expression  which  used  to  vex  it :  but 
you  must  expect  some  trouble  at  times,  I  fear. 
It  was  only  on  one  point  she  was  strange,  you  re- 
member." 

"  Yes ;  you  all  thought  her  mad,  I  know ;  but 
facts  have  proved  that  she  was  right,  and  the 
community  was  mad." 

Mr.  Brown  laughed  till  the  hill  re-echoed,  and 
the  wood-pigeon  cooed  and  flew  across  from  the 
fir-wood  to  the  larches. 

That  afternoon  a  Victoria  and  a  pair  of  bays  were 
carefully  watched  as  they  passed  through  Beck- 
thorp. 

Harry  Bent,  the  cobbler,  who  was  preparing  his 
snares  as  he  chatted  to  Giles  Fletcher,  peered 
through  his  little  window  at  the  grand  equipage 
rolling  magnificently  by. 

"  Look  ye  here,  Giles,  lad ;  if  there  ain't  old 
Aunt  Bess  riding  like  a  duchess  along  in  a  real, 
spanking  carriage." 

The  two  men  gazed  in  wonder  at  the  strange 
sight. 

"Well,  lad,  you  don't  say  nothing,"  said  Harry, 
clapping  Giles  on  the  shoulder,  "  and — blow  me !  if 
you  aren't  as  white  as  milk." 

"Harry,  you  have  meant  well  by  me,  I  know," 
said  Giles,  slowly,  fixing  his  large,  dark  eyes  on 
Harry  Bent's  ferret-like  face.  "Yes,  you  have 
meant  well,  I  doubt  not ;  and  you  have  taught  me 
the  craft  of  snaring  a  hare  and  netting  a  pheasant ; 
but  God  knows  what  evil  you  have  wrought  in  me, 
Harry,  What  might  I  have  been  if  I  had  never 


GILES  SAT   DOWN,    AND   LEANED   HIS   HEAD   ON    HIS   HANDS. 


Page  199. 


A   LATE   REPENTANCE. 

come  across  you !  I'm  ashamed  to  think  of  what 
I  am  now  ;  and  that's  the  truth." 

"  Why,  Giles,  lad !  cheer  up,  my  heartie.  Have 
a  glass  of  gin  and  shake  off  the  blues.  Think  of 
the  bonny  fine  nights  we  have  had  in  the  Squire's 
coverts  and  plantations." 

"I'll  never  poach  again,  Harry.  I'll  try  and 
turn  over  a  new  leaf,  and  live  more  worthy  of  her." 

Harry  whistled  softly  to  himself,  and  the  lean 
lurcher  that  slept  on  the  mat  by  the  fire  roused 
herself,  and  cocked  one  ear.  Giles  sat  down,  and 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hands.  After  a  long  silence 
he  murmured  to  himself — 

"Angus  Forbes,  you  have  had  your  revenge. 
You  said  to  me  in  the  wood,  '  Giles,  I  leave  you  to 
the  great  Judge  of  all  the  earth/  The  great  Judge 
— ah!  I  can  see  Him  now.  He  has  His  black  cap 
on,  and  He  is  going  to  pronounce  sentence  on  me." 

Harry  Bent  went  to  the  cupboard,  and  poured 
out  a  glass  of  gin ;  but,  to  his  great  astonishment, 
Giles  put  aside  the  glass,  and  abruptly  left  the 
house. 

"Blessed  if  they  Fletchers  ain't  all  mad.  First 
it  was  Aunt  Bessie,  and  her  queer  belief  in  Provi- 
dence ;  now  we  have  Giles  turning  white  at  the 
thought  of  the  great  Judge.  The  great  Judge !  I 
wonder  if  there's  anything  in  it.  Here  goes  the 
gin,  any  way." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  LOVER'S  WALK. 

SO-MORROW  Minnie  Fletcher  is  to  be 
married.    She  has  been  all  the  morning 
in  her  mother-in-law's  house,  where  she 
is  to   live  with  Giles— oh,  how  many 
happy  years !    There  has  been  so  much 
to   do,  choosing  the  linen  and  the  glass  from  the 
thrifty  savings  of  more  than  fifty  years. 

Mrs.  Fletcher,  Giles's  mother,  having  no  daughter 
of  her  own,  and  not  being  so  strong,  as  she  had 
been,  was  right  glad  to  welcome  Minnie  to  her 
home,  and  had  said  over  and  over  again  to  the 
laughing  girl — 

"  This  shall  be  yours,  my  dear ;  and  you  may  as 
well  have  that,  for  I  want  little  now." 

"  Oh,  mother,  you  are  stripping  yourself  of  'all 
your  best  things  !  " 

"  Never  mind,  child  :  no  fear  that  Giles  and  I 
shall  quarrel ;  he  will  let  me  share  with  you  as 
long  as  I  live." 

"It  shan't  be  my  fault,  mother,  if  you're  not 
comfortable,"  said  Minnie,  giving  her  a  kiss  out 
of  gratitude. 

That  afternoon  Giles  called  for  her  to  take  a 


A   LOVER'S  WALK.  2O I 

walk  on  the  cliff.  It  was  a  beautiful  day ;  a  fresh 
wind  blew  out  of  the  north-west,  and  clouds  scudded 
swiftly  across  the  sky,  the  shadows  chasing  one 
another  over  the  hills  inland,  and  across  the  heather 
and  the  green  corn-lands  and  the  smooth  downs 
and  the  bright,  blue  sea  eastward. 

When  Giles  and  Minnie  reached  the  stile  where 
the  old  hedger  had  waited  on  that  eventful  night, 
the  smile  died  out  of  young  Fletcher's  eyes,  and 
the  lines  of  his  mouth  grew  hard. 

Minnie  was  so  full  of  talk  and  laughter  that 
she  did  not  notice  his  silence  ;  her  happiness  was 
too  deep  to  suspect  the  presence  of  any  bitter 
thought  in  her  lover's  mind. 

They  strolled  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff — as 
near,  at  least,  as  they  dare,  for  the  soil  was  ever 
crumbling  and  falling,  ^nd  year  by  year  the  downs 
were  robbed  of  large  slabs  and  slices  of  smooth 
turf. 

"  I  shall  never  want  any  pleasure  beyond  a  walk 
with  you,  Giles,  on  these  cliffs ;  so  you  need  not 
bother  about  me,  and  talk  of  taking  me  to  Norwich, 
or  Peterborough,  or  London,  if  I  ever  look  fagged. 
All  you  have  to  do  is  to  chuck  me  under  the  chin, 
and  say,  '  Minnie,  come  for  a  walk  on  the  cliff/ 
and  you'll  see  the  trouble  will  pass  away  from  my 
eyes,  and  once  more  I  shall  be  a  light-hearted  girl 
again.  Why,  I've  played  on  these  cliffs  ever  since 
I  can  remember !  and  when  you've  spent  so  many 
happy  hours  in  a  place,  you  come  to  love  it ;  don't 
you  think  so,  Giles  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  you  do ;  but  come  away 
from  the  edge,  or  you'll  be  turning  giddy.  Minnie, 
come  back  ! " 

But  Minnie  was  bent  on  looking  over,  just  to 
show  Giles  that  he  was  not  master  yet.  She  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  blue  water  lapping  on  the  stones, 


202  VELVETEENS. 

of  sunlight  dancing  on  the  level  spaces  between 
the  waves,  and  of  a  white  fringe,  as  of  lace, 
stretching  round  the  curve  of  the  cliff. 

Then  she  felt  herself  caught  in  a  powerful  grip 
and  almost  flung  on  the  smooth  sward.  Giles, 
with  flashing  eyes  stood  over  her,  and  drew  a 
deep  sigh  as  he  muttered — 

"This  place  is  very  dangerous,  Minnie.  Oh,  you 
have  given  me  such  a  fright!  I  thought  it  was 
the  judgment  of  the  great  Judge  coming  on  me. 
Oh  dear !  oh  dear !  " 

"  What's  the  matter,  Giles  ?  Why  do  you  look 
so  frightened  ? " 

"What  have  I  said?"  asked  Giles,  coming  to 
himself  again. 

"Strange  words  about  the  judgment  to  come. 
I  don't  understand  you." 

"I  thought  you  were  done  for  in  this  world, 
Minnie ;  like  poor  George,  who  fell  over  here  when 
he  was  drunk." 

"But  I'm  not  drunk,  you  silly,"  said  the  girl, 
laughing. 

"  I  am  a  silly,  that's  the  truth.  I  was  afraid 
I  was  going  to  lose  you,  just  like  Mr.  Brown  did 
Aunt  Bessie.  There's  some  queer  fate  hangs  over 
us  Fletchers  ;  we  always  get  the  cup  dashed 
from  our  lips  just  when  we  think  we  are  going 
to  have  a  nice,  long  pull  at  it.  It's  mortal  hard 
on  us." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense,  Giles,  about  fate.  I  don't 
believe  in  fate  at  all.  I  think  if  folks  get 
the  cup  snatched  from  them  they  probably  de- 
serve it." 

"Oh,  then,  you  put  it  down  to  Providence,  do 
you  ?  Well,  you  don't  get  much  for'arder  that 
way.  Look  at  the  way  good  folks  gets  knocked 
about  in  this  life.  David  said  he  had  never  seen 


A  LOVER'S  WALK.  203 

a  good  man  in  want ;  but  if  he  had  lived  in 
this  country  he  might  have  seen  a  many,  mightn't 
he?" 

"Some  good  folks  don't  seem  to  use  their  wits, 
Giles.  I  suppose  we're  not  meant  to  act  like  idiots 
when  we've  done  saying  our  prayers." 

"Well,  then,  what  had  Aunt  Bessie  and  Harry 
Brown  done  to  bring  upon  them  such  a  calamity  ? " 

"Done?"  said  Minnie,  tickling  Giles's  nose  with 
a  long  bent  of  grass,  as  they  sat  side  by  side,  on 
the  high  slope.  "  Done  ?  I  think  that  Harry  richly 
deserved  his  fate.  What  right  had  he  to  go  rowing 
out  in  a  boat,  all  alone,  just  after  he  had  got 
married  ? " 

"Ha,  ha!  you  are  a  good  one  for  getting  out 
of  a  poser,  you  are.  But,  come  now !  What  had 
poor  Aunt  Bessie  done  to  call  down  all  that  long 
suffering  on  her  ?  For  I  reckon  she  suffered  most 
of  the  two." 

"That's  easily  answered,  Master  Wise-acre. 
When  she  let  her  husband  go  out  alone  like  that 
she  forgot  her  wifely  duty ;  she  wanted  a  lesson, 
and  she  got  a  sharper  one  than  I  should  have  given 
her,  to  be  sure." 

"Minnie,  there's  no  arguing  with  you,  dear; 
there's  only  one  way  of  stopping  your  mouth." 

"  And  how  do  you  do  that  ? "" 

"  By  kissing  you  on  the  lips." 

"  No,  excuse  me,  Giles :  to-morrow,  if  you  don't 
go  out  in  a  boat  without  me,  you  may  do  it  to 
your  heart's  content ;  but  this  afternoon  I  am  still 
a  modest  maid." 

"You're  a  lot  too  modest,  Minnie;  any  other 
girl  would  have  let  me  kiss  her." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  me  just  like  any  other  girl, 
Giles?" 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.    You'll  take  a  deal  of 


204  VELVETEENS. 

breaking  in,  I  know.  You  have  a  will  of  your 
own." 

"I  have  ;  there's  to  be  no  more  poaching, 
Giles." 

"  All  right ;  I  am  sick  of  the  whole  thing.  I 
told  Bent  to-day  that  I  would  have  no  more  of 
it.  In  fact,  I  showed  him  pretty  plain  that  I  was 
tired  of  him  and  his  ways." 

"  That's  a  good  boy !  No  more  poaching !  That 
will  be  one  good  step,  won't  it  ?  And  the  next 
step,  Giles  ? " 

"Well,  pretty  one,  what's  to  be  the  next?" 

"No  more  drinking  at  the  Three  Jolly-boats." 

"  Pooh !  I  never  have  gone  in  for  drinking, 
lass  ;  and  one  goes  in  there  just  as  a  swell  goes 
to  his  club,  to  hear  the  news  and  spend  an  idle 
hour." 

"But,  Giles,  I  shall  want  your  idle  hours  now. 
There  will  be  nets  to  mend,  and  boats  to  paint, 
and  things  to  do  to  the  house  and  garden,  to  make 
all  right  for  the  visitors  in  the  summer.  And  then,  I 
always  mistrust  that  drink.  Remember  poor  George 
yonder." 

Giles  shuddered  a  little  as  he  replied,  "  I'm  not 
like  to  forget  it  I  was  with  him  just  before  he 
died." 

"Yes,  he  sat  by  your  side,  didn't  he,  when  you 
were  at  the  tavern  ?  Poor  fellow,  what  did  he 
talk  about  ? " 

"  Oh,  he  was  too  drunk  to  talk  much !  But  let 
us  try  and  forget  him,  Minnie ;  it's  not  nice  talk 
that." 

"  No,  it  makes  one  feel  rather  queer.  Why,  what 
a  lot  of  horrible  things  have  happened  in  these  last 
few  years !  There  was  the  Squire's  sudden  death, 
and  then  Jean  Forbes  has  to  go.  I  like  Jean,  and 
I  like  her  brother  well  enough.  Poor  things! 


A  LOVER'S  WALK.  205 

they've  got  trouble  enough,  haven't  they,  Giles  ? 
To  think  of  their  father  being  shot  like  that — 
such  a  nice,  well-mannered  man  as  he  was 
too!  Oh,  I  wish  I  had  been  by  with  a  stout 
cudgel ! " 

Giles  felt  he  had  better  say  something,  so  he 
said — 

"Why?" 

"Why !  "  repeated  Minnie,  her  dark  eyes  flashing 
fiercely ;  "  I  would  have  dealt  the  murderer  one  on 
the  head,  that's  all." 

Giles  got  up ;  the  conversation  was  not  pleasing 
to  him. 

"  Let  us  walk  on,  Minnie  ;  it's  rather  chilly  sitting 
here." 

Minnie  allowed  him  to  help  her  to  her  feet,  but 
her  mind  had  not  supped  enough  on  horrors. 

"I  say,  Giles,  have  you  ever  seen  a  dead 
man?" 

After  a  pause,  Giles  replied,  "Yes,  I've  seen 
some  poor  fellows  who  were  drowned." 

"  Ah !  I  suppose  they  look  calm  enough  ;  but  a 
murdered  man,  now  ?  I  don't  suppose  you  ever  saw 
the  face  of  a  murdered  man,  did  you  ? " 

"  How  sweet  the  larks  are  singing  up  in  the 
clouds,  Minnie." 

"Yes,  they  are  newly  paired.  Their  wants  are 
provided  for ;  so*  are  ours,  Giles :  their  consciences 
are  easy,  so  are  ours:  we,  too,  can  sing  and  be 
happy  and  thank  God,  can't  we  ? " 

"Ah,  my  darling,  I  want  to  be  happy,  and  I 
want  to  be  good  ;  will  you  teach  me  how  ?  But 
when  I  try  to  be  happy,  evil  thoughts  come  and 
disturb  me." 

"But  we  are  going  to  be  happy,  Giles.  You 
have  promised  me  faithfully  to  give  up  your  bad 
companions,  so  we  can  be  happy.  Our  consciences 


206  VELVETEENS. 

will  not  reproach  us  any  longer.     I  have  full  trust 
in  you,  darling." 

Giles  pressed  the  little  arm  that  lay  in  his.  Full 
trust  in  him !  it  made  him  feel  better  in  heart 
already.  If  only  this  charming  girl  could  be  with 
him  in  his  hours  of  temptation,  how  easy  would 
it  be  for' him  to  resist  evil. 

They  walked  up  and  down  the  undulating  cliff- 
walk,  still  devising  schemes  for  married  life. 
Minnie  had  gone  into  brighter  themes  for  converse 
now,  and  her  merry  laugh  would  at  times  disturb 
the  rabbit  or  the  fieldfare  ;  while  it  made  Giles 
feel  that,  above  the  silent  reproaches  of  his  awaken- 
ing conscience,  he  might  enjoy  the  luxury  of 
having  a  music  as  sweet  as  it  was  innocent  in  its 
source. 

"  Yes,"  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "  I  think  I  am 
the  last  person  to  be  suspected  now.  Though 
Angus  Forbes  knows  my  secret,  he  won't  split. 
And  he  is  going  to  another  part  of  the  country 
soon.  Yes,  I  think  I'm  pretty  safe.  Probably  he 
was  only  making  a  guess  when  he  got  me  down 
and  charged  me  with  murdering  his  father ;  and 
nobody  heard  me  confess  to  having  done  it.  I 
think  I'm  safe  ;  but,  all  the  same,  it's  not  very 
comfortable  living  over  a  barrel  of  gunpowder. 
If  mother  was  dead,  I  would  sell  all  and  cut  the 
country — go  off  with  Minnie  to  New  Zealand  or 
somewhere." 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of,  Giles  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing  in  particular.  You  said  just  now 
that  you  liked  Angus  Forbes.  I  know  he  is  very 
sweet  on  you,  darling.  How  was  it  you  did  not 
take  him  instead  of  me  ?  He's  a  fine  chap,  and  so 
steady." 

"Why  did  I  not  take  Angus  Forbes?"  asked 
Minnie,  taking  her  arm  out  o*f  Giles's.  "Well,  I 


A  LOVER'S  WALK.  207 

suppose  I  felt  drawn  to  you  most.  I'm  always  a 
little  frightened  when  I  am  with  Mr.  Forbes  ;  and 
I  have  known  you  ever  since  I  was  a  baby.  Besides, 
Giles,  I  do  so  want  to  save  you  from  your  enemies." 

"  Enemies !  what  enemies  ?  Do  you  know  of  any 
one  who  wants  to  harm  me,  Minnie  ? " 

"  Your  own  vices,  dear  boy  ;  don't  look  so  scared. 
But  tell  me,  how  is  it  you  can  speak  of  Mr.  Forbes 
in  that  calm  way?  Have  you  given  over  being 
jealous  of  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  quite  dropped  all  that.  He  has  been  very 
generous  to  me,  and  we  have  made  up  all  our 
quarrel ;  you  need  not  fear  I  will  be  jealous  of  him 
again.  I  really  like  the  chap  now ;  he's  a  real 
good-hearted  one." 

Minnie  pondered  over  this  change  of  sentiment 
in  Giles.  She  wondered  how  Forbes  could  have 
found  an  opportunity  for  being  generous  ;  but  she 
asked  no  questions,  for  she  thought  to  herself— 

"To-morrow  I  am  to  be  married  to  him,  and  it 
will  be  my  fault  if  I  don't  know  all  his  secrets 
before  the  week  is  out." 

All  his  secrets !  Poor  girl !  she  had  not  fathomed 
the  depths  of  that  mind,  so  weak,  so  crafty,  so 
insincere.  They  parted  in  the  town-street,  and 
Giles  went  in  to  have  tea  with  his  mother. 

"Giles,"  said  she,  "here's  a  note  come  for  you 
from  Mr.  Fraser.  One  of  the  young  ladies  brought 
it.  It's  got  '  important '  on  it,  and  I  said  you  should 
be  sure  and  attend  tc  it  after  tea." 

Giles  smiled  as  he  broke  the  seal.  "The  parson 
wants  to  tell  me  how  I'm  to  behave  at  the  wedding, 
I  guess." 

But  inside  the  letter  were  only  these  words : — • 

"  Giles,  I  want  to  see  you  at  six  this  evening. 

"C.  FRASER." 


208  VELVETEENS. 

"  Bah !  he  treats  me  like  a  small  boy  in  the 
choir ;  but  I  shall  let  him  know  who  I  am." 

His  mother  smiled,  and  looked  proudly  at  her 
son :  to-morrow  was  to  be  the  proudest  day  in  her 
life! 

Giles  was  very  silent  during  tea  ;  for  he  was 
wondering  if  Angus  had  told  the  Vicar  about  that 
Firleby  Wood  business,  and  whether  that  was  the 
reason  why  the  Vicar  had  sent  for  him.  Angus  had 
certainly  exacted  from  him  a  promise  not  to  marry 
Minnie  ;  but  he  surely  would  not  be  so  cruel,  now 
that  he  was  going  away.  Still,  he  felt  uneasy  about 
it — very  uneasy.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  get  rid  of 
these  terrible  panics  and  misgivings!  Life  was 
becoming  very  irksome  to  him,  and  the  shadow  of 
the  hangman  fell  across  every  pleasant  path. 


HUH 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

AN   ULTIMATUM. 

R.   BROWN  had  just  had  a  cup  of  tea 
with  the  Vicar  and  his  three  daughters, 
entertaining  them  with  yarns  about  his 
life   on   the   desert   island    and  in   the 
Australian  bush. 
"  It  has  struck  six.    I  think  we  had  better  adjourn 
to  the  library,"  said  Mr.  Fraser  to  his  guest. 

Accordingly  the  two  men  lit  their  pipes  in  the 
small  sanctum,  whose  window  looked  out  into  the 
garden  by  the  side  of  the  house. 

"  Suppose  he  does  not  come  ? "  said  Mr.  Brown. 
"I    think    he   will,"    said    the  Vicar,    blowing  a 
circle  into  the  air ;  "  he  will  think  it  concerns  his 
wedding  to-morrow." 

"  And  he  won't  be  far  wrong,  either,  I  reckon." 
Then   they   fell   to   discussing   the  best  way  of 
dealing  with  their  man  ;  but,  before  they  had  settled 
the  method  of  procedure,  a  little  girl  ushered  Giles 
into  the  room. 

He  came  in  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  playing 
unconcernedly  with  his  sealskin  cap. 


210  VELVETEENS. 

"You  sent  for  me,  I  believe,  sir?  Here  I  am, 
you  see  ;  pretty  punctual,  though  the  notice  was 
rather  short." 

As  he  was  speaking  he  saw  from  the  faces  of 
the  two  men  before  him  that  something  was  wrong, 
and  his  voice  grew  softer  as  his  sentence  drew  to 
a  close. 

"  Giles,"  said  the  Vicar,  "  please  to  shut  the  door 
and  sit  down  ;  we  have  some  serious  business  before 
us,  I  am  afraid." 

Giles  Fletcher's  face  turned  pale  for  a  moment, 
but  he  sat  down  with  rather  a  defiant  air,  and  fired 
the  first  shot. 

"  It  is  the  poaching,  I  dare  say,  you  want  to  talk 
about ;  but  I  have  explained  to  Mr.  Forbes,  the 
head  keeper,  how  it  was  I  went  out  the  other  day. 
I  have  said  good-bye  to  all  that  for  ever  now — 
word  of  honour,  gentlemen." 

"I  wish  you  would  say  'good-bye'  to  Minnie 
Fletcher,  too,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  tapping  the  ashes 
out  of  his  pipe. 

"  Do  you  ?  It  strikes  me  you're  rather  too  late 
in  your  wishes." 

"  I  don't  think  I  am,  young  man  ;  and  let  me  tell 
you  that  you  may  as  well  adopt  a  more  becoming 
manner  here." 

"  I'm  as  good  as  you,  Mr.  Brown ;  you  needn't 
give  yourself  airs  on  account  of  your  money,  which 
you  never  earned." 

"I  did  not  commit  murder  to  obtain  it,  Giles 
Fletcher." 

Giles  tried  to  brazen  it  out,  and  replied  fiercely — 

"  If  you  sent  for  me,  Mr.  Fraser,  for  this  fellow  to 
insult  me,  I  think  I'd  better  be  going  home." 

"No  insult  is  intended,  Giles  Fletcher,"  said  the 
Vicar;  "but  Mr.  Brown,  as  the  husband  of  a  Miss 
Fletcher,  objects  to  your  marrying  Minnie ;  and  the 


AN   ULTIMATUM.  211 

objection  rests  on  a  very  serious  charge  which  we 
wish  you  to  hear." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  have  been  a  good  friend  of  yours, 
all  my  life  ;  it  does  seem  an  unneighbourly  thing  to 
spring  charges  upon  a  chap  like  this  on  the  day 
before  his  wedding." 

"  I'm  sorry  I'm  so  late,"  said  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  but  it 
was  not  until  yesterday  that  I  heard  all  the  evidence 
there  was  against  you." 

At  the  word  "  evidence  "  Giles  started,  but,  quickly 
recovering,  replied — 

"People  talk  about  evidence  when  they  mean 
scandal.  What  do  you  charge  me  with  ?  Let's  have 
it  out  at  once." 

"I  charge  you  with  murdering  Mr.  Forbes  in 
Firleby  wood." 

Giles  started  to  his  feet,  and  thumped  his  fist  on 
the  table  as  he  shouted  in  reply — 

"  It's  a  lie  !  a  devilish  lie  !  " 

"  I  wish  it  was,  Giles,  with  all  my  heart,"  said 
the  Vicar. 

"What's  the  evidence,  sir?  I  can't  speak  to  him." 

"A  ram-rod  was  found  near  the  body." 

"  What  of  that  ?  it  wasn't  mine." 

"  It  belonged  to  your  gun  ;  both  the  gun  and  the 
ram-rod  had  the  figure  of  a  seal  engraved  upon 
them." 

"  Oh,  then  it  was  my  gun.  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir. 
Now,  who  had  been  using  my  gun,  I  wonder  ? 
Nothing  easier  than  for  one  of  the  boys  to  go  to  the 
place  where  we  keep  them,  and  take  out  my  gun. 
I  am  surprised  at  your  bringing  such  a  disgraceful 
charge  on  such  trumpery  evidence." 

"That's  not  all,  young  man.  I  have  other  evi- 
dence," said  Mr.  Brown. 

Giles  leaned  across  the  table,  and  shook  his  fist, 
saying— 


212  VELVETEENS. 

"You  villain,  you've  some  deep  design  in  all 
this." 

Mr.  Brown  removed  his  pocket-handkerchief 
quietly  from  the  table,  and  disclosed  a  very  pretty 
revolver.  He  tapped  it  with  his  two  fingers,  and 
said  softly — • 

"  I  have  provided  against  accidents,  you  see  ;  so 
bullying  won't  pay.  Sit  down,  you  young  scoundrel, 
and  hear  us  patiently.  The  village  policeman  is 
in  the  kitchen  ;  if  you  don't  obey  us,  we  will  give 
you  in  charge.  Sit  down,  I  say." 

"  Yes,  sit  down,  Giles  ;  you  will  gain  nothing  by 
violence.  And  understand  that  we  do  not  wish  to 
press  you  unfairly  ;  but  these  are  grave  facts  which 
you  must  explain  to  us." 

Giles  sat  down,  looking  flushed  and  anxious. 

Mr.  Browrn  resumed  :  "  You  were  out  with  the 
poachers  that  night ;  of  this  \ve  can  bring  the 
evidence  of  eye-witnesses." 

"  I  was  out  a  bit,  but  I  had  gone  home  before 
that  happened." 

"  Leaving  your  gun  in  the  charge  of  some  one 
else  ? " 

Giles  nodded  assent,  and  sat  back  defiantly. 

"But  I  believe  you  were  bitten  by  a  dog  that 
night?" 

"  Well,  yes,  I  was ;  some  time  before  Mr.  Forbes 
was  shot." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  ;  the  dog  was  not  let  loose 
until  the  fatal  shot  was  fired,  as  you  well  know." 

"  It  was  not  the  mastiff  that  bit  me ;  it  was 
another  dog." 

"Giles,"  said  the  Vicar,  in  solemn  tones,  "what 
do  you  know  about  a  mastiff?  the  word  ' mastiff ' 
was  never  mentioned." 

"  No,  sir ;  but  I  have  talked  a  good  'deal  to  the 
boys  about  that  night's  doings,  and  I  have  heard 


AN    ULTIMATUM.  213 

how  the  mastiff  was  let  loose  and  bit  some  one. 
I  think  it  was  poor  old  George." 

"You  see,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "he  is  a  slippery 
customer — has  an  answer  ready  for  every  one." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  Giles,"  went  on  the  Vicar, 
"that  you  were  bitten  by  one  of  your  own  dogs, 
that  knew  you  so  well  ? " 

"Yes,  sir.  You  see,  there  were  some  Yarmouth 
boys  out  that  night.  I  had  never  seen  them  before, 
nor  their  dogs.  I  had  to  whip  one  of  the  dogs  for 
giving  tongue,  and  he  bit  me  in  the  arm." 

"  Do  you  know  the  mastiff  up  at  the  keeper's  ? " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  seen  him  lots  of  times." 

"Ah,  I  suppose  he  knows  you  too,  and  would 
hardly  be  likely  to  fly  at  you  ? " 

Giles  brightened  up ;  after  all,  the  Vicar  was 
trying  to  help  him  out  of  his  difficulty.  He  replied 
briskly — 

"The  dog  knows  me  well — wouldn't  fly  at  me, 
certainly  not." 

"Then,  how  do  you  account,  Giles,"  said  the 
Vicar,  "  for  that  mastiff  trying  to  fly  at  you  in  the 
street  a  few  weeks  after  that  night  in  the  wood  ? 
For  I  am  told  that,  unless  young  Forbes  had  held 
him  in  a  chain,  he  would  have  jumped  at  your 
throat." 

"It  was  not  me  he  wanted  to  get  at,  but  my 
dog  ;  he  always  goes  like  that  when  he  sees  my 
dog." 

"  If  that  mastiff  were  to  be  posted  at  the  church 
door  to-morrow,  you  don't  fear  he  would  fly  at  you  ? " 

"  Not  unless  he  smelt  my  dog,  sir." 

"Very  well.  Now,  Mr.  Brown,  you  wish,  I  think, 
to  have  a  few  words  in  private  with  Giles." 

"  Yes,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Fraser ;  if  we  cannot 
prove  our  charges,  we  must  try  other  arguments." 

"  Giles,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  when  they  were  alone, 


214  VELVETEENS. 

"  old  George  said  that  he  was  out  that  night 
with  you,  and  saw  you  bitten  by  the  mastiff.  Of 
course,  I  know  this  is  no  evidence  against  you ; 
but  still,  straws  tell  which  way  the  wind  blows. 
What  have  you  to  say  to  this  ? "  I 

"  Only  this,  sir,  that  old  George  had  a  bit  of  a 
grudge  against  me,  and  when  he  was  drunk  he 
would  make  up  stories  that  everybody  in  his  senses 
knew  to  be  false."  j 

"You  knew  that  he  had  a  grudge  against  you, 
before  he  died  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  he  tried  to  get  money  out  of  me 
by  threatening  to  accuse  me  of  this  and  that."  i 

"You  were  not  with  him  when  he  fell  from 
the  cliff?" 

"  No,  sir ;  I  had  been  sitting  near  him  at  the 
tavern,  but  I  had  gone  with  my  dog  after  a  rabbit, 
and  when  I  came  back  I  heard  he  had  fallen  over." 

Mr.  Brown  paused  a  long  while,  then  asked —      ' 

"  Had  you  such  fear  of  the  old  man's  threats 
that  you  wished  him  dead  ? " 

"  Not  I ;  it  made  no  matter  to  me  what  he  said. 
I  was  as  innocent  as  a  babe  unborn — and  a  good 
deal  more  so." 

Mr.  Brown  smiled  a  slow  smile,  and  asked 
quietly — 

"  This  being  the  case,  it  was  hardly  necessary  for 
you  to  push  the  poor  fellow  over  the  cliff  yonder." 

"Who  says  I  did  it?  it's  a  shameful  lie." 

"This  bit  of  satin  says  you  did."  And  Mr.  Brown 
drew  from  his  breast  pocket  the  neck-tie  which 
his  wife  had  found,  and  which  he  laid  on  the  table 
beside  the  revolver. 

Giles  looked  at  the  neck-tie,  and  said,  "I  don't 
understand  what  you  are  driving  at,  master.  Just 
let  me  have  it  in  my  hands." 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Mr.  Brown,   putting  his 


AN   ULTIMATUM.  215 

large  hand  upon  the  satin.  "This  is  worth  a  man's 
life." 

Giles  breathed  hard  and  the  colour  left  his  cheek  ; 
he  began  to  feel  that  he  was  trapped  in  a  hole  from 
which  there  was  no  way  out.  But  he  murmured  in 
a  hollow  voice — 

"  It  never  was  mine,  sir,  never !  " 

"  Then,  why  did  your  good  mother  work  your 
name  on  it  ? "  said  Mr.  Brown,  pointing  out  the 
neat  red  letters. 

Giles  gasped  for  breath ;  he  was  hardly  pre- 
pared with  a  reply. 

"  Now,  lad,  it  is  quite  useless  to  tell  another  lie. 
You  might  say,  you  had  given  him  the  tie  ;  but 
why  was  he  clutching  it  in  his  death- grip?  You 
might  say — 

"  Please,  sir,  who  says  he  found  it  so  ? " 

"  I  cannot  give  you  the  name ;  but  it  was  one 
who  wishes  you  well,  and  whom  it  would  be  idle 
to  distrust." 

Giles  sat  for  a  minute  looking  on  the  ground  ; 
his  mind  was  rapidly  going  through  all  possible 
reasons  for  old  George  having  that  neck-tie  in  his 
death-grasp.  At  last  he  looked  up,  and  said— 

"  It  must  be  so,  as  I  thought  it  was  at  first. 
George  and  I  had  a  bit  of  a  squabble  in  the 
tavern,  and  he  snatched  at  my  neck  just  before 
he  went  out.  I  never  missed  my  tie  ;  and  when 
I  went  to  bed  that  night,  I  thought  I  must  have 
gone  without  one  all  day,  as  I  often  do ;  so  I  took 
no  heed.  I  own  it  looks  queer  to  one  who  doesn't 
know  the  facts ;  but  I  hope  and  trust  you  will 
believe  me  when  I " 

"Believe  you?"  said  Mr.  Brown,  taking  up  his 
revolver ;  "  not  a  word  of  truth  in  what  you  have 
said  this  evening — not  a  word  of  truth.  Now,  look 
here,  young  man :  I'm  not  going  to  have  that  g'Vl, 


2l6  VELVETEENS. 

Minnie  Fletcher,  married  to  a  poacher,  a  liar,  a 
murderer!  You  have  got  to  choose  in  the  next 
ten  minutes  which  you  will  do.  Will  you  stay  here 
and  be  arrested  for  murder,  or  will  you  leave  the 
place  and  ship  for  the  colonies  ?  If  you  will  stay 
here,  I  will  see  that  a  policeman  is  in  attendance 
to  arrest  you  before  you  enter  the  church  ;  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  you  elect  to  try  your  luck  in  the 
colonies,  I  will  get  you  a  passage  to  New  Zealand 
or  Australia.  But  you  must  choose  now,  and  start 
in  less  than  two  hours'  time.  I  am  breaking  the 
law  by  not  giving  you  into  custody  ;  I  risk  that  for 
the  sake  of  your  family." 

Giles  Fletcher  had  been  writhing  like  a  worm 
during  this  speech  ;  but  it  was  evidently  a  relief. to 
him  to  escape  the  clutch  of  the  law. 

At  this  moment  the  Vicar  returned  to  the  room, 
saying — 

"Well,  Mr.  Brown,  have  your  arguments  been 
more  efficacious  than  mine  ? " 

"Yes,  Mr.  Fraser,  I  think  I  have  shown  this 
young  man  that  he  can  have  no  hope  of  marrying 
Minnie  ;  he  has  not  in  words  yet  promised  to  relin- 
quish the  attempt,  but  I  think  he  will  now  hardly 
care  to  refuse  my  offer." 

"I  am  glad,  and  yet  I  am  sorry,"  said  the 
Vicar.  "  I  am  glad  for  Minnie's  sake  ;  but  I  cannot 
help  being  very  sorry  for  your  mother,  Giles.  Poor 
woman  !  it  is  enough  to  break  her  heart.  And 
then,  think  of  the  cruel  blow  to  Minnie  herself. 
It  is  too  terrible !  I  cannot  suppose  that  Mr.  Brown 
has  bribed  you  to  go  and  leave  the  poor  girl ;  you 
would  not  do  that,  I  believe.  There  must  be  some 
grave  misdeeds  of  yours  which  you  fear  may  come 
to  light  if  you  stay.  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  it  is 
not  our  duty  to  give  what  evidence  we  have  to 
the  police," 


AN    ULTIMATUM.  217 

Giles  had  melted  at  the  thought  of  his  mother's 
sorrow ;  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes,  as  he  faltered  out — 

"  Oh,  sir,  think  of  my  poor  mother,  and  give  me 
one  more  chance,  just  one  more,  sir.  I  see  it  all 
now :  I  was  led  on  without  thinking  of  the  conse- 
quences. Oh,  sir,  God  is  merciful,  and  His  ministers 
are  merciful  too." 

The  Vicar  rose,  and  said  sternly,  "  Don't  play  the 
canting  hypocrite  here,  young  man.  It  is  true  God's 
ministers  should  be  merciful ;  but  to  whom  ?  To 
a  young  innocent  girl,  or  to  a  mean,  selfish,  and 
unprincipled  villain  ?  For  this,  and  nothing  else, 
is  what  you  have  become.  No,  I  will  exercise  no 
mercy  which  will  do  a  wrong  to  the  innocent.  Your 
very  presence  among  us  might  poison  the  moral 
atmosphere  of  the  parish.  If  you  are  not  guilty 
of  the  graver  charges,  you  have  made  friends  of 
poachers  and  murderers.  You  must  go  ;  leave  to 
me  the  duty  of  informing  your  poor  mother  and 
Minnie  Fletcher  about  your  departure.  I  will 
break  it  as  softly  as  I  can  to  your  widowed 
mother." 

The  murderer  had  fine  feelings  and  emotions 
tenderer  than  most  men  ;  he  was  sobbing  as  if  his 
poor  little  heart  would  break.  Plato  would  have 
seen  in  it  fresh  evidence  that  all  sin  is  the  result 
and  outcome  of  ignorance.  If,  as  Giles  had  said, 
he  had  only  known  all  the  consequences  of  his  acts, 
how  differently  he  would  have  acted ! 

In  other  words,  it  was  not  the  sin  he  hated,  but 
the  punishment  thereof.  The  Vicar  thought  that 
there  was  little  hope  of  immediate  amendment  in 
a  fellow  of  that  kidney. 

It  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  Giles  should  be 
locked  up  in  a  room  in  the  Vicarage  until  such 
things  as  he  desired  could  be  fetched  from  his 
home. 


2l8  VELVETEENS. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brown  to  the  Vicar,  when 
they  were  walking  alone  in  the  garden,  "as  this 
boy  prefers  to  decamp  rather  than  meet  a  jury 
of  his  countrymen,  I  guess  you  will  not  open  the 
church  for  to-morrow's  ceremonial." 

"  It  would  be  rather  a  farce  certainly  to  pretend 
we  were  waiting  for  the  bridegroom  ;  but  I  shall 
wait  till  to-morrow  before  I  say  anything.  To- 
morrow I  must  go  to  poor  Minnie,  and  break  the 
terrible  news  to  her  as  well  as  I  can." 

"  Girls  are  sad  fools,  sir.  I  understand  she  might 
have  had  that  young  Forbes,  who  is  a  really  worthy 
fellow." 

"Ah,  Brown,  it  is  no  use  for  you  or  me  to 
criticize  the  feminine  instinct.  Well,  I  thank  you 
for  coming.  Good  night.  Have  you  got  your  stick 
— and  revolver  ? " 

"All  right.    Good  night,  sir." 

Then  the  Vicar  went  to  his  desk  and  took  out 
the  memorandum  which  he  had  drawn  up  regarding 
the  keeper's  death  ;  this  he  signed  and  sealed,  then 
rang  for  the  constable. 

"  Atkins,  put  this  in  the  post,  as  you  go  home  ; 
keep  an  eye  on  Giles  Fletcher,  if  you  see  him  about ; 
there  is  something  wrong." 

The  constable  saluted,  and  left  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

• 

MR.   BROWN'S  COURIER. 

[EAN  FORBES  and  her  brother  had  been 
dining  at  the  big  hotel  as  the  guests  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown.  The  latter  had 
jumped  up  several  times  during  dinner 
"  to  save  "  the  poor  waiter,  and  had  made 
round  eyes  at  her  husband  when  he,  with  his  usual 
recklessness,  had  ordered  sparkling  wine.  Poor 
Angus  could  not  help  thinking  of  to-morrow's  wed- 
ding, for  Mr.  Brown  had  not  yet  told  any  of  them 
what  had  been  done  at  the  Vicarage  ;  his  wife  knew 
that  Giles  was  to  be  met  at  six  o'clock,  but  Mr. 
Brown  had  returned  from  Beckthorp  late  for  dinner, 
the  guests  were  already  in  the  room,  and  there  had 
been  no  time  to  say  anything  in  private.  Angus 
had,  however,  resolved  in  his  mind  to  have  Giles 
arrested,  if  he  persisted  in  his  intention  of  marriage. 
After  dinner  they  sat  by  the  open  window,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  cliff.  There  were  no  houses  between  t 
them  and  the  sea,  though  it  was  a  six  minutes'  walk 
to  the  water's  edge.  The  afternoon  had  been  close 
and  sultry,  and  now  the  sheet  lightning  was  play- 
ing round  the  sky  and  revealing  transient  glimpses 
of  white  sails  and  green  slopes  and  red-tiled  village 
on  the  right. 


220  VELVETEENS. 

"  Well,  Forbes,  have  you  made  up  your  mind  yet?'* 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  have,  and  many  thanks  to  you, 
sir.  Jean  says  she  should  like  nothing  better  than 
to  live  in  Australia ;  so,  if  you're  satisfied,  I  am 
sure  we  are." 

"  Capital !  Do  you  hear  that,  Bess  ?  They  will 
come  with  us.  You  won't  feel  so  strange,  now, 
will  you  ? " 

"Thank  you,  Jeannie,'1  said  Mrs.  Brown;  "you 
have  made  me  so  happy,  you  can't  think.  I  couldn't 
a-bear  going  out  alone  to  them  savages  — only 
think  of  it !  " 

"  She  will  have  it  we're  all  savages  in  Australia," 
laughed  Mr.  Brown.  "As  soon  as  I  get  her  to 
Melbourne,  I  shall  take  her  to  the  biggest  hotel, 
and  get  her  a  box  at  the  theatre.  Oh,  I'll  take 
the  savage  notions  out  of  her,  trust  me ! " 

"I  wonder  what  poor  Minnie  is  doing  to-night," 
said  Mrs.  Brown,  by  way  of  giving  her  husband  a  cue. 

"Ah,  by-the-by,  is  that  door  shut?  No  savage 
waiters  lurking  behind  the  coal-scuttle  ?  Well, 
then,  listen  to  me.  We  met  Giles  Fletcher  at  the 
Vicarage,  and  frightened  him  out  of  his  wedding. 
He  went  away  an  hour  ago." 

"  What's  that  you  say  ? "  exclaimed  Angus,  who 
had  been  leaning  out  of  the  window,  listening  to 
the  voices  of  the  night.  "  Gone  away,  do  you  say  ? 
Where  to?" 

"  To  the  station.  My  man  has  gone  with  him  ;  he 
is  to  see  him  safe  on  board  ship,  for  New  Zealand, 
where  he  may  do  very  well,  if  he  turns  over  about 
fifteen  new  leaves." 

Angus  had  forgotten  all  about  the  sounds  of  the 
night  now. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  Giles  Fletcher  has 
given  up  Minnie,  and  chosen  to  run  away  ? " 

"  Well,  he  had  not  much  of  a  choice  ;  if  he  stayed 


MR.  BROWN'S  COURIER.  221 

here,  it  might  have  been  a  hanging  matter.    Now 
the  girl  is  free  once  more." 

"  Poor  Minnie !  what  a  dreadful  shock  it  will  be 
for  her ! "  murmured  Angus,  half  to  himself. 

"  She  deserves  something  of  that  nature,  Forbes, 
for  preferring  that  young  rascal  to  you." 

Angus  blushed.  "  I  don't  wonder  at  her  choice. 
I'm  an  awful  blunderer  when  I  get  amongst  that 
sex.  I  always  say  the  things  they  don't  like  to 
hear." 

"And  Giles,"  put  in  Jean,  "had  such  a  happy 
knack  of  saying  pleasant  things,  that  most  girls 
would  be  more  taken  with  Giles  than  with  my 
brother.  Still,  she  has  had  time  to  find  out  what 
they're  stuffed  with,  for  certain." 

"  You  mean,  she  has  sat  upon  them  both, 
perhaps  ? " 

Jean  smiled  and  curled  her  lip.  Being  Scotch, 
she  hardly  approved  of  such  levity  in  a  man  over 
forty. 

"Who  is  going  to  break  the  news  to  her?" 
asked  Angus. 

"And  to  his  poor  mother  ? "  added  Mrs.  Brown. 

"The  Vicar  will  go  down  and  let  them  know, 
he  says." 

"  Poor  Minnie,"  repeated  Angus  ;  "  I  am  glad  I  had 
nothing  to  do  in  the  matter.  But  it's  very  sudden  : 
what  money  could  he  take  with  him,  or  what 
things  ? " 

"We  sent  down  for  some  clothes.  His  mother 
would  think  they  were  for  his  wedding  trip.  And 
we  made  him  up  a  little  purse." 

"We!"  cried  Mrs.  Brown,  indignantly;  "you 
aren't  going  to  tell  me  that  you've  wasted  more 
money  on  that —  Well,  I  never  did !  I  never 
did ! " 

Mrs,  Brown  looked  so  exactly  "as  if  she  never 


222  VELVETEENS. 

did/'  that  all  the  company  forgot  their  manners 
and  laughed  outright. 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and 
a  head  appeared.  It  was  the  valet,  courier,  confi- 
dential servant.  His  hair  was  towselled  about  his 
face,  and  his  expression  was  that  of  one  who  has 
been  foiled. 

"  Hi,  William !    What  on  earth  brings  you  back 


again  ? ' 


But  William  replied  in  the  softest  of  asides, 
"  Could  I  speak  with  you  privately,  sir  ? " 

"We  are  all  in  the  secret  of  your  errand.  You 
may  speak.  Bless  the  fellow !  I  hope  he  has  not 
brought  Giles  back." 

"  I  have  travelled  in  Siberia,  Russia,  Italy,  Sicily, 
the  Holy  Land,  but  never  in  all  my  life  have  I 
felt  so  foolish,  sir,  as  I  do  to-night.  I  return  like 
an  absolute  fool." 

"  You  do,  William,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  tartly.  "  I 
understand  you  to  say  that  you  have  made  a  fool 
of  yourself  in  divers  parts  of  the  world,  but  never 
such  an  egregious  fool  as  to-night ;  eh,  William  ? " 

"  Something  of  that  nature,  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
Thinking  I  had  to  do  with  a  country  bumpkin,  I 
allowed  myself  to  be  taken  off  my  guard.  Such  a 
thing  has  seldom  happened  to  me  in— 

"Come,  come  !  your  story,  sir;  what  has  happed?" 

"I  beg  pardon  for  my  long  and  prolix  state- 
ments. It  is  not  my  habit  to  have  recourse  to 
circumlocutory " 

"Now  then,  William,  cut  the  long  words  and 
tell  us  your  story." 

Mr.  William  pulled  up  short  with  an  aggrieved 
air,  then  with  a  sigh  he  stroked  his  dark  moustache, 
and  put  his  hand  in  his  bosom,  and  began  again — 

"We  set  off  as  nice  as  could  be  in  the  dog-cart, 
with  his  little  bundle  of  things  behind.  For  the  first 


MR.  BROWN'S  COURIER.  223 

half-hour  he  said  little,  though  I  tried  to  draw  him 
out  on  the  subject  of  pheasants'  eggs.  But  soon  he 
began  to  thaw,  and  speak  so  nice  and  pleasant 
that,  as  I  said,  it  was  a  real  pleasure  to  drive  him, 
and  I  gave  him  several  useful  hints  about  colonial 
life.  The  boy  who  rode  behind  was  quite  won 
over,  he  has  told  me  since,  to  the  idea  of  trans- 
portation." 

"  Perhaps  you  mean  emigration,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Pardon  me,  emigration  is  a  better  word  without 
doubt ;  so,  then,  we  crossed  the  moors  and  traversed 
the  high  land,  and  had  reached  a  wooded  country, 
where  it  grew  wondrous  dark,  and,  as  the  hill  was 
steep,  the  man,  Giles,  suggested  that  he  should 
get  down  and  walk.  I  got  down  too,  and  then  he 
fell  to  talking  of  the  beautiful  girl  to  whom  he 
was  to  be  married  to-morrow.  And  his  voice 
grew  so  sweet  and  pathetic  I  felt  a  great  lump 
rise  in  my  throat ;  and,  if  the  Vicar's  pony  had 
not  stumbled,  I  think  I  should  have  given  way  to 
an  access  of  tears." 

"  Great  ass ! "  murmured  Mr.  Brown,  unsympa- 
thetically. 

" '  Ought  a  man  to  desert  the  girl  he  loves  ? '  he 
asked  me  once. 

" '  That  all  depends  on  circumstances/  I  replied  ; 
'I  understand  that  your  circumstances  just  now 
are  urgent  for  you  to  go  to  foreign  parts.  If  the 
girl  loves  you,  she  will  wait  till  you  return  to  claim 
her.' 

" '  It's  a  long  way  to  New  Zealand,'  said  he,  '  and 
will  cost  a  mint  of  money.' 

"'But  my — Mr.  Brown  has  got  you  a  ticket  or 
free  pass.  He's  a  director/  said  I. 

" '  Yes,  I  know/  says  he,  in  an  absent  way — in 
fact,  he  became  very  absent,  and  didn't  seem  to 
hear  my  remarks." 


224  VELVETEENS. 

"How  very  annoying  for  you !  I  suppose,  William, 
there's  something  coming  soon,  or  you  wouldn't  be 
here?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I'm  coming  to  the  end  of  it  now.  We 
had  attained  the  summit  of  the  declivity,  and  I  had 
climbed  to  my  seat.  He  began  feeling  about  as  if ^ 
he  was  trying  to  find  a  place  for  his  foot  in  the 
dark.  I  heard  him  climb  up,  and  felt  the  gig 
shake  when  he  took  his  seat.  I  then  tried  to 
comfort  him,  and  spoke  of  the  charms  of  a  well- 
appointed  ship,  and,  having  made  a  pleasant  jest, 
I  nudged  him  in  the  ribs  ;  that  is  to  say,  my  first 
nudge  fell  short,  so  I  tried  a  second — a  long  nudge, 
— but  my  elbow  went  trailing  out  into  space.  Then 
my  brow  grew  clammy.  I  clapped  my  hand  on  the 
seat.  It  was  as  I  had  thought — the  seat  was 
vacant !  warm,  but  vacant !  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  let  him  escape  ? " 

"  Sir,  there  are  circumstances  which  baffle  human 
skill.  This  young  man  was  sitting  by  my  side, 
listening  to  my  talk  ;  suddenly  he  was  gone.  I 
was  driving,  my  hands  were  occupied,  but  I  felt 
certain  he  sat  beside  me  ;  and  yet  I  was  deceived  ; 
I  confess  it,  I  was  deceived." 

"Well,  there's  one  good  thing, — I  had  put  the 
money  in  your  yellow  bag ;  so  we  have  saved  that 
expense,  Bess." 

Mr.  William  glanced  down  his  nose,  and  stroked 
his  hat  meditatively ;  then,  with  a  clearing  of  his 
throat,  began— 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  when  we  reached  the 
station,  the  yellow  bag  was  no  longer  under  the 
seat." 

"Well,  I  never!"  cried  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  But  that  is  stealing,"  said  Angus.  "  The  bag,  it 
seems,  did  not  belong  to  him." 

"I  beg  pardon,"  broke  in  the  courteous  courier; 


MR  BROWN'S   COURIER.  225 

"the  young  man  had  made  me  promise  to  change 
bags  with  him.  I  consented  to  this,  as  my  own— 
the  yellow  one — was  growing  old  and  infirm,  but  I 
never  thought  of  his  deep  designs." 

Mr.  Brown  sat  back  in  his  chair,  and  laughed. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  William,  I'll  tell  you  what : 
if  that  young  man  comes  back,  I  shall  give  him 
your  place.  He's  a  much  sharper  chap  than  you 
are ;  and  you  can  turn  poacher.  I've  seen  you 
poach  an  egg,  by  Jove.  Ha,  ha !  so  you  let  him  go 
off  with  the  yellow  guineas,  bag  and  all." 

"  Can  I  do  anything  else*  this  evening  ? "  asked 
the  poor,  crestfallen  man,  in  a  subdued  tone. 

"You've  done  plenty  for  one  day,  thank  you. 
Go  and  ask  the  cook  to  have  mercy  on  you — I 
can't." 

When  William's  soft  footfall  had  died  away,  Mr. 
Brown  said — 

"Now,  Bess,  you're  this  lad's  relation,  and  you 
know  his  ways.  What  do  you  think  he  will  do  ? 
Turn  up  for  the  wedding — eh  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  he  loves  the  poor  girl  fondly,  though  he 
has  acted  so  wickedly.  I  don't  think  he  will  desert 
her." 

"  But  if  he  comes  back  he  will  be  taken  up ;  he 
knows  that." 

Jean  Forbes  replied,  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he 
had  been  back  already,  and  taken  the  girl  away 
while  you  gentlemen  were  talking.  He's  a  lad  of 
action,  Giles  is." 

A  look  of  horror  passed  over  every  face. 

"Angus  Forbes,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  "will  you 
run  across  to  Minnie's  house  and  try  and  see  John 
Fletcher  ?  Warn  him  not  to  lose  sight  of  Minnie. 
Tell  him  I  sent  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  "and  tell  him  it  is  our 
wish  that  Minnie  should  not  leave  the  house  under 


226 


VELVETEENS. 


any  pretext.   We  will  explain  our  reasons  to-morrow, 
tell  him." 

Angus  was  reluctant  to  go  to  Minnie's  house  on 
the  eve  of  her  wedding,  but  he  could  not  refuse  the 
general  wish  ;  so  he  put  a  bold  face  on  it,  and, 
taking  his  hat,  ran  down  the  grand  staircase  as  if 
he  knew  Giles  was  decoying  his  tame  pheasants. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


MINNIE'S  LAST  NIGHT  AT  HOME. 

INNIE  FLETCHER  was  sitting  at  the 
table  in  the  back  keeping-room,  putting 
a  few  last  touches  to  her  bonnet.  John 
sat  with  his  legs  up,  and  a  long  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  was  contemplating  Minnie 
between  the  whiffs,  as  he  stroked  his  bushy  black 
beard  and  whiskers  with  the  right  hand.  He  was 
thinking  how  comely  she  was,  and  how  he  should 
miss  her.  First  Aunt  Bessie  went,  then  Minnie,  and 
now  poor  John  Fletcher  is  left  alone  ;  and  who  was 
to  do  for  him  now  ?  He  began  to  think  he  should 
have  to  get  married  too ;  but  what  lass  was  good 
enough  for  him  ? 

"John,  this  is  our  last  night  together,  and  you 
have  nothing  to  say ;  you  sit  and  smoke,  and  think 
— smoke  and  think." 

"  Well,  isn't  it  enough  to  make  one  think  ?  Who's 
to  make  my  tea  when  you're  gone  ?  But  I  wasn't 
altogether  thinking  of  myself,  Minnie  ;  I  was  looking 
at  the  bloom  on  your  cheek,  and  wondering  whether 
it  would  be  as  young-looking  and  happy  a  face  in 
six  months',  aye,  or  in  six  weeks'  time,  as  it  is 


228  VELVETEENS. 

now.  Marriage  is  such  a  game  at  hazard,  my  dear  ; 
and  I  do  so  want  you  to  be  happy." 

"  I'm  sure  I  thank  you,  John  ;  but  you  always 
did  fear  evil  before  it  came.  You  always  feared 
you  should  cut  your  nets  and  lose  your  lobster-pots — 
you  know  you  did,  John  ;  but  it  seldom  happened. 
Now,  I  have  chosen  a  most  affectionate  boy  to  be 

my Hark  !  a  step  !  Here  he  comes !  No  ;  well, 

if  it  isn't  Mr.  Forbes  !  " 

"  Good  evening,  Minnie  Fletcher,"  said  Angus. 

"  Now,  that  is  good  of  you,"  said  Minnie,  colouring 
as  she  rose  to  give  him  her  hand.  "  I  was  afraid 
that  you  would  never  come  near  me  any  more. 
But  this  is  good  of  you,  Mr.  Forbes  ;  isn't  it,  John  ? " 

"Aye,"  said  John,  nodding  at  the  bowl  of  his 
pipe,  "  I  dare  say  it  has  cost  him  something  to  put 
his  pride  in  his  pocket,  and  come  down  to  wish  you 
good  luck." 

"And  I  do  pray  God  you  may  have  a  happy 
life,"  stammered  Angus,  leaning  forward  with  a 
clenched  hand  on  the  table  ;  "  I  do  wish  you  all 
joy  in  life.  It  is  true  I  had  once  thought  you  might 
have  chosen  me  ;  I  thought  I  could  have  provided 
for  you,  and  made  you  a  good  husband.  I  do  love 
you  still,  I  own  it." 

At  this  moment  a  face  peered  in  from  the  dark- 
ness of  the  passage  \vithout ;  the  face  was  that  of 
Giles.  He  must  have  heard  the  last  words,  for  his 
mouth  fell  open  as  if  a  great  shock  of  disappoint- 
ment had  come  to  him.  Not  one  of  the  three  occu- 
pants of  the  back  parlour  had  noticed  him,  and  he 
retired  with  a  noiseless  tread,  as  he  had  come. 

Angus  had  stopped  a  moment  to  repress  a  queer 
choking  sensation  which  was  troubling  him,  but  he 
went  on,  watching  Minnie's  face  as  she  sat  at  her 
work. 

"  Women  must  choose  ;  we  men  can  only  ask." 


MINNIE'S  LAST   NIGHT  AT   HOME.  22Q 

"Those  who  ask  don't  have,"  said  John,  taking 
his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  for  the  clearer  utterance 
of  this  original  comment.  Angus  unfortunately  did 
not  even  smile. 

"  Women  sometimes  choose  unwisely,"  said 
Minnie,  as  she  deftly  wound  her  cotton  round  a  new 
button  and  snapped  it  off  with  her  teeth.  "  And  as  I 
know  you  think  me  rash  in  choosing  Giles,  I  thank 
you  all  the  more  for  not  owing  me  a  grudge,  Mr. 
Forbes.  In  my  own  mind  I  am  performing  a  duty 
to  Giles  in  marrying  him  ;  he  wants  some  one  to 
keep  him  straight,  doesn't  he  ? " 

"  He  has  wanted  some  one  for  years,"  said  Angus. 
"  I  can  only  say  that  when  I  taxed  him  with  certain 
things  he  seemed  repentant,  and  I  forgave  him. 
Remember,  Minnie,  whatever  may  happen,  I  forgive 
him  ;  and  I  am  ready  to  help  you,  or  him,  or  both  of 
you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl,  rather  coldly.  "You  say 
'  whatever  may  happen,'  as  if  you  thought  I  shouldn't 
be  happy  very  long  ;  but  remember,  Angus  Forbes, 
however  happy  and  prosperous  I  may  be  with  Giles, 
I  forgive  you  for  your  suspicions." 

Angus  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  the  girl,  who  sat 
there  so  unconscious  of  her  fate.  He  longed  to  tell 
her  what  Giles  had  done,  and  how  blind  she  had 
been,  and  how  unlikely  it  was  that  her  wedding 
should  take  place  on  the  morrow.  But  he  felt  that 
it  was  not  his  place  to  act  as  adviser,  and  he  knew 
the  Vicar  would  do  it  much  better.  He  coughed 
once  or  twice  to  attract  the  attention  of  John,  but 
that  worthy  had  his  feet  higher  than  his  head,  and 
had  abstracted  his  soul  from  common  things.  Angus 
\vas  obliged  to  go  round  the  table  and  tap  him  on 
the  shoulder  twice  before  he  would  attend. 

"  John,  may  I  have  a  word  with  you,  outside  ? " 

"  Can't  you  say  it  here,  man  ?  I'm  riding  at  anchor, 


230  VELVETEENS. 

and  don't  want  to  weigh  now,  and—  Well,  what 
are  you  at  ? " 

Angus  had  nodded  and  winked  in  vain. 

"  It's  a  bit  of  business  I  am  told  by  Mrs.  Brown  to 
do,  but,  if  you  won't  let  me,  I  must  go  back  to  her." 

When  John  Fletcher  heard  it  was  Aunt  Bessie's 
message,  he  slowly  rose  with  a  grunt,  saying — 

"  Oh,  if  it  be  Aunt  Bessie,  she  be  such  an  un- 
common big  swell  in  these  parts,  you  know,  one 
of  the  quality— 

"  May  I  not  hear  it  ? "  asked  Minnie,  with  a  laugh. 

"  Not  just  yet,  I'm  afraid/'  answered  Angus. 

"  John/'  he  went  on,  after  they  had  gained  the  little 
plot  of  garden  in  front  of  the  house,  "  there's  some 
hitch  on  about  Giles  Fletcher ;  he's  got  into  a  row, 
and  has  been  to  see  the  Vicar  about  it.  The  result 
is,  he  may  want  to  get  Minnie  away  to-night,  or 
early  to-morrow.  Now,  you  will  prevent  this,  won't 
you  ?  You  want  Minnie  to  be  married  in  church 
before  she  goes  away,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  fancy  I  do,"  said  John,  setting  his  teeth. 

"If  Giles,  to  spite  the  Vicar,  or  for  any  other 
reason,  seeks  to  take  Minnie  away  to  be  married 
somewhere  else — 

"If  he  do  seek,  he  shall  not  have  my  consent 
to  it." 

"Thank  you,  John.  I  may  tell  Mrs.  Brown  you 
will  keep  an  eye  on  Minnie  to-night  ? " 

"Ay,  ay;  girl  shall  go  to  bed  right  early:  door 
shall  be  bolted.  Giles  better  mind  how  he  comes 
trapessing  here." 

And  with  a  "  Good  night,"  the  two  men  separated. 

Now  Giles  had  run  back  to  Beckthorp  for  three 
things.  First  he  wished  to  explain  to  his  mother  how 
it  was  he  was 'leaving  the  village  ;  for  he  loved  his 
mother  after  a  fashion,  and  would  not  willingly 
have  given  her  pain.  He  had  concocted  a  little 


MINNIE'S  LAST  NJGIIT  AT  HOME.        231 

story  of  disagreement  with  the  Vicar,  which  would, 
he  hoped,  account  to  her  for  his  sudden  departure, 
and  leave  her  in  peace  of  mind.  Secondly,  he  had 
come  home  for  more  money.  It  was  his  idea  to 
go  to  Grimsby  and  invest  in  a  share  of  a  steam 
trawler.  He  had  known  other  men  do  the  same 
with  success.  Thirdly,  he  had  come  home  for 
Minnie.  If  she  would  not  come  away  with  him,  he 
might  at  least  arrange  that  they  should  meet  at 
Grimsby.  What  was  life  without  Minnie  ?  For 
dear,  sweet  Minnie  he  felt  he  would  freely  give  his 
—well,  a  good  deal ;  and  that,  for  Giles,  meant  a 
considerable  sacrifice. 

But  when  he  had  heard,  on  entering  John's  house, 
those  words  from  the  lips  of  Angus,  "  I  do  love  you 
still ;  I  own  it,"  he  felt  that  his  happiness  was  never 
more  near  to  being  wrecked  than  now.  He  hurried 
back  to  his  mother's  house  in  anger,  disappointment, 
and  fear.  For  what  did  those  words  mean  ?  They 
meant  that  Forbes  had  gone  to  Minnie  and  told 
her  all  about  his  doings,  and  his  being  sent  off  to 
the  colonies.  He  had  not  seen  the  poor  girl's  face, 
but  her  head  was  bent  down,  and  no  doubt  she  was 
weeping,  bitterly  weeping,  whilst  this  sanctimonious 
sneak  was  taking  advantage  of  her  distress  to  say 
how  he  loved  her! 

Savagely  did  Giles  bite  his  lips.  "And  then," 
he  reflected,  "the  fellow  will  spread  the  tale  all 
round  the  village ;  if  I  am  caught  here,  I  am  as 
good  as  booked  for  Norwich  gaol." 

Giles,  accordingly,  having  sworn  his  mother  to 
secrecy,  set  off  with  his  bag  of  money.  The  yellow 
bag  was  now  rather  heavy,  but  the  fear  of  the  judge 
with  the  black  cap  acted  as  a  spur.  His  poor 
mother,  bewildered  and  dishonoured,  in  her  own 
eyes  to-night,  in  the  eyes  of  her  neighbours  to- 
morrow, sat  down  and  cried — first  as  a  little  child 


232  VELVETEENS. 

cries  who  is  frightened  at  being  left  alone,  presently 
as  a  mother  cries  whose  darling  boy  has  been 
taken  from  her. 

Meanwhile,  Angus  Forbes  had  gone  back  to  the 
hotel,  and  told  them  how  he  had  warned  John 
Fletcher  to  keep  an  eye  upon  Minnie.  So  far  all 
was  right.  But  the  Vicar  must  be  told  now  about  the 
escape  of  Giles,  and  consulted  about  the  next  step. 

Accordingly  it  was  agreed  that  Forbes  and  his 
sister  should  call  at  the  Vicarage  on  their  way 
home. 

The  Vicar's  children  and  servants  had  gone  to 
bed  when  Angus  rang  the  bell ;  the  Vicar  was 
sitting  in  his  library  smoking,  and  he  himself 
opened  the  door  to  Angus. 

"  Come  in,  come  in,  Miss  Forbes,  if  you  don't 
mind  the  smell  of  tobacco.  Some  news  brings  you 
here,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"You  have  heard  that  Giles  has  not  gone  by 
train — has  run  off  somewhere  ? "  said  Angus. 

"  No ;  my  boy  returned  with  the  pony-cart,  but 
he  has  not  told  me  anything — the  little  stupid/' 

"  Well,  he  made  off  with  the  bag  of  money,  which 
was  his,  I  suppose,  bag  and  all ;  for  he  managed  to 
exchange  bags  with  William.  The  question  is,  what 
is  he  going  to  do  ? " 

"  Dear  me  ;  how  very  tiresome ! "  said  the  Vicar, 
knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe.  "  Will  he  return 
to  marry  Minnie,  or  will  he  try  to  carry  her  off? " 

"  We  have  seen  to  that,  sir.  I  have  warned  John 
Fletcher." 

"  As  Giles  has  declined  to  accept  our  offer,  I  see 
no  help  for  it ;  the  wedding  must  take  place." 

"  Or  Giles  must  be  arrested,"  said  Jean. 

"What  a  terrible  alternative,"  replied  the  Vicar; 
"  either  of  them  is  appalling.  Still,  I  see  no  help 
for  it,  unless  we  can  get  Giles's  mother  to  stay 


MINNIE'S  LAST  NIGHT  AT  HOME.       233 

Minnie  from  coming  to  church.  I  don't  see  how 
I  can  prevent  it." 

"Some  one  must  tell  his  mother,"  said  Jean, 
"but  it  would  not  do  for  either  Angus  or  me  to 
act  in  it." 

"  Certainly  not ;  I  will  go  now  and  call  on  Mrs. 
Fletcher,  and  break  the  news  to  the  poor  things  as 
softly  as  I  can." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  that  will  do,  I  hope,"  said 
Angus. 

Then  the  brother  and  sister  walked  silently  to 
their  lodge.  When  they  reached  the  gate,  Jean 
said— 

"  I  have  no  patience  with  that  Minnie  ;  she  ought 
to  know  better  than  we  do  what  sort  of  fellow 
Giles  is.  If  she  suffers,  I  don't  much  pity  her." 

"Don't  be  hard,  Jean,"  replied  Angus;  "every- 
body keeps  the  truth  from  her,  poor  girl.  I  doubt 
there  will  be  a  terrible  scene  to-morrow  —  and 
Sunday,  too ! " 

But  it  was  fated  that  Minnie  should  hear  nothing 
that  night ;  for,  just  as  the  Vicar  was  setting  off  to 
see  her,  he  was  called  away  to  the  sick-bed  of  a 
dying  parishioner  some  miles  inland. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE    WEDDING-DAY. 

)T  was  a  beautiful  May  morning  that 
dawned  on  Minnie  Fletcher,  this  Sun- 
day of  her  wedding  ;  the  sun  shone 
into  her  little  bedroom  window  and 
awoke  her  right  early.  She  rose  and 
knelt  by  her  bed  to  pray.  And  she  prayed  for  Giles 
more  than  for  herself :  she  prayed  that  God  wrould 
turn  his  heart,  and  make  him  a  sober  and  good 
husband.  Then  she  prayed  for  herself,  that  she 
might  have  strength  to  resist  the  evil  in  her  husband's 
character,  that  she  might  prove  a  good  and  faithful 
wife,  and  be  blessed  with  happiness  in  this  life  and 
in  the  next.  She  had  half  risen,  but  bent  her  knee 
once  more,  and  prayed  that  Angus  Forbes  might 
win  a  worthy  woman  and  forget  his  disappointment 
in  a  new  love.  Then,  when  her  eyes  were  swim- 
ming with  generous  tears  at  the  thought  of  poor 
Angus,  who  loved  her  so  faithfully,  being  left  deso- 
late and  forsaken,  she  sat  down  on  her  bed  and 
began  to  comb  her  hair,  thinking  now  more  of 
Angus  than  of  Giles. 


THE   WEDDING-DAY.  235 

"Why  had  people  plagued  her  so,  advising  her 
not  to  take  Giles  ?  If  they  had  only  let  her  alone, 
she  might  have  chosen  the  other.  Was  it,  then, 
out  of  self-will  that  she  had  decided  to  marry 
young  Fletcher?  And  was  the  bettering  of  Giles 
more  an  excuse  for  her  choice  than  a  true  motive  ? " 
She  felt  a  twinge  of  conscience,  and  tugged  sharply 
at  the  comb  as  it  flew  through  her  raven  tresses. 

So  Minnie's  thoughts  on  this,  her  wedding-day, 
were  not  as  sunny  as  the  skies. 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  little  girl 
tapped  at  the  back  door  of  Giles's  house.  She 
tapped  once,  and  nobody  came.  She  tapped  a 
second  time,  still  no  one  came.  She  then  went  to 
the  neighbour's  house,  and  said  to  the  \voman  who 
was  washing  up  some  cups  and  saucers — 

"Will  you  be  so  good,  Mrs.  Somers,  as  to  give 
this  letter  to  Mrs.  Fletcher,  when  she  comes  in  ?  It's 
from  the  Vicar." 

"All  right,  lassie.  She'll  be  at  Minnie  Fletcher's 
now,  I'll  upho'de  it,  trying  on  the  new  dress." 

"Thank  you,  mum,"  said  the  little  girl,  and  ran 
off,  singing  and  tripping  with  dancing  steps  ;  for  the 
promise  of  a  marriage  makes  every  girl's  heart 
glad,  howsoever  young  she  be. 

Mrs.  Somers  waited  awhile  before  she  went  in 
next  door,  but  when  it  drew  near  half-past  seven, 
she  said  to  herself— 

"  This  here  wedding  is  at  eight  o'clock,  and  Mrs. 
Fletcher  must  be  back  by  now,  if  she  means  going 
to  church  ;  for  it  will  take  her  fifteen  minutes,  even 
in  the  donkey-cart." 

But  when  she  saw  the  front  of  the  house,  and 
that  the  shutters  had  not  been  taken  down,  she 
cried  out — 

"  Mercy  on  us !    There's  summut  wrong  here." 

She  knocked  and  kicked,  peeped  through  the 


236  VELVETEENS. 

keyhole,  and  listened,  but  no  sight  or  sound  re- 
assured her. 

"  Harry,"  she  cried  to  her  husband — a  tall,  burly 
fisherman, — "  what's  come  to  the  Fletchers  ?  Here's 
Giles  Fletcher's  wedding-day,  and  nobody  up  yet, 
though  all  the  folks  is  trapesing  up  to  church  to 
see  the  doings." 

Harry  lounged  round  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  rattled  the  back  door  merrily,  and  shouted  for 
Giles.  But  all  within  was  still  and  voiceless,  and 
the  lurcher  in  the  stable  whined  and  scratched  at 
the  door. 

"  I  say,  missus,  this  Jere  looks  very  like  queer 
street,"  said  the  fisherman,  scratching  his  head. 

"  Shall  I  run  to  John  Fletcher's,"  asked  his  wife, 
"  and  see  if  she  be  not  there  all  the  time  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  would,  missus ;  belike  Giles  and  his 
mother  be  i'  t'other  house." 

Presently  Mrs.  Somers  returned,  saying,  "There 
was  nobody  yonder  neither ;  the  neighbours  said 
they  had  started  off  for  Beckthorp  church  a  few 
minutes  sin'." 

"  I  think  I  can  get  in  by  this  back  window,"  said 
Somers  ;  and,  with  a  little  persuasion,  he  induced 
the  fastening  to  give  way.  It  was  not  long  before 
his  head  appeared  from  the  bedroom  window.  He 
stooped  down,  and  whispered— 

"  She's  lying  on  her  bed,  bad — can't  speak  ;  her 
mouth  is  slewed  round  right  across  her  cheek, 
Mary.  I'll  go  down  and  let  you  in  through  the 
door." 

Then  Mrs.  Somers  went  in,  and  ministered  to  the 
stricken  mother  as  best  she  could. 

The  Vicar's  letter  lay  on  the  little  table  un- 
opened. Poor  Mrs.  Fletcher  could  take  no  notice 
of  anything ;  she  breathed  thickly,  and  her  eyes 
were  half  open, 


THE:  WEDDING-DAY.  237 

"Dear,  dear!  and  on  her  son's  wedding-day, 
too!" 

Then  Mrs.  Somers  began  to  cry,  out  of  sym- 
pathy. 

"Shall  I  fetch  the  doctor?  Where's  Giles,  I 
wonder  ? " 

"Yes,  Harry,  run  and  fetch  the  doctor.  Deary 
me !  And  to  think  she  should  be  taken  like  this 
on  her  son's  wedding-day !  Well,  I  wonder  if  Giles 
knows  what's  come  to  her.  Belike  he  never  thought 
of  calling  her  this  morning.  Heigh !  but  the  doors 
was  all  locked  up.  Then  how  did  Giles  get  out  this 
morning  ?  It  looks  very  like— well,  I'm  clean 
'mazed  about  it.  Giles  never  slept  at  home,  or  I'm 
a  goose." 

While  Mrs.  Somers  was  making  her  sad  dis- 
covery, and  reflecting  on  the  vicissitudes  of  life, 
the  preparations  for  the  wedding  had  gone  on 
merrily  up  at  Beckthorp. 

The  churchyard  was  full  of  little  girls  and  grown 
women  ;  the  church,  too,  contained  a  good  sprinkling 
of  friends  of  the  two  families,  whose  heads  seemed 
all  put  on  hind  afore,  as  they  were  looking  back 
over  their  shoulders  to  see  the  bride  enter  at  the 
west  door. 

Aunt  Bessie  was  not  there.  "Ah,  she  be  quality 
now :  she  comes  in  late,  you'll  see,"  said  one. 

"  Oh !  but  Mr.  Brown  is  at  the  lych-gate,  talking 
to  the  constable — a-waiting  for  her  to  drive  up 
with  the  bride.  You'll  see  if  he  bean't,  Mary 
Ann." 

"And  the  Vicar  yonder — why  don't  he  put  his 
surplice  on  ?  and  why  do  he  look  so  grave  ? " 

"Why,  they  do  say  that  he  would  have  liked 
Minnie  to  many  Angus  Forbes.  That's  his  brother 
Willie,  yonder  by  the  porch — him  as  has  the  big 
dog  in  a  strap." 


238  VELVETEENS. 

The  Vicar  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Brown,  and, 
taking  him  aside,  said— 

u  I  have  heard  nothing  in  reply  to  my  letter 
to  Mrs.  Fletcher ;  so  I  suppose  the  bride  is 
coming.  Have  you  instructed  the  constable  in  his 
part  ? " 

..."Yes, -he.- knows  what  to  do:  when  the  bride- 
groom^comes,  he^will  collar. „ him,  and.  march  him 
off  to  the  station." 

"  What  a  terrible  position !  How  I  wish  I  could 
have  prevented  this  sooner !  " 

"  It's  not  our  fault ;  we  acted  as  soon  as  we  had 
the  evidence.  It  is  really  my  wife's  fault  for  not 
making  the  facts  known  before.  But  we  can't 
blame  her/' 

"  Certainly  not,  Mr.  Brown ;  she  knew  of  some 
very  suspicious  facts  ;  she  could  hardly  act  upon 
them." 

A  hum  of  voices,  a  running  of  little  feet  along 
the  gravelled  path,  betokened  the  arrival  of  one  of 
the  chief  performers.  It  was  the  bride,  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  John  Fletcher,  and  smiling  sweetly 
from  side  to  side,  as  friends  wished  her  joy  on  this 
happy  day. 

There  were  some  large  beech  trees  near  the  lych- 
gate,  and,  as  Minnie  passed  under  their  shade,  the 
birds  sang  that  morning,  and  twittered  joyously  in 
the  branches,  as  if  to  add  their  welcome  to  that  of 
her  human  friends.  That  scene  dwelt  long  in  her 
memory. 

Minnie  shook  hands  with  Willie  at  the  porch,  and 
patted  the  mastiff  on  the  head,  who,  however,  took 
no  heed  of  the  compliment,  but  held  his  muzzle  to 
the  ground,  and  looked  up  moodily,  with  blood- 
shot eyes. 

John  and  Minnie  walked  up  the  nave,  John  with  a 
sprig  of  lavender  in  his  mouth,  trying  to  look  un- 


THE   \VEDDING-DAY.  239 

concerned,  Minnie  smiling  graciously,  and  showing 
her  pretty  dimpled  cheek  and  white  teeth. 

When  she  found  that  Giles  had  not  yet  come, 
she  gave  a  little  forced  laugh,  and  sat  down  in  one 
of  the  pews.  Once  more  all  heads  turned  to  the 
western  door  to  greet  the  bridegroom.  The  Vicar 
was  standing  within  the  porch :  he  had  not  yet 
robed  for  the  service,  but  was  talking  softly  to  Mr. 
Brown.  There  were  many  young  fisher-lads  sitting 
in  the  church.  They  had  come  to  see  their  chum 
"turned  off,"  and  were  already  whispering  amongst 
themselves  at  the  delay  of  the  bridegroom. 

Ten  minutes,  fifteen  minutes  passed,  and  yet 
no  sign  of  Giles  or  his  mother.  Minnie's  mouth 
began  to  pout,  and  she  tossed  her  head  with  all  the 
haughtiness  of  a  slighted  beauty.  She  could  hear 
the  children  in  the  road  making  fun  of  Giles's  un- 
punctuality. 

Twenty  minutes  passed.  The  good  folk  in  the 
church  were  beginning  to  move  fretfully  in  their 
seats :  they  no  longer  looked  back  at  the  porch  ; 
their  eyes  were  all  bent  now  on  poor  Minnie,  who 
was  turning  pale  and  red  by  turns,  and  had  a  tear 
glistening  in  her  eye  ;  while  John  Fletcher  was  now 
gnawing  nervously  at  the  stalk  of  his  lavender,  and 
making  the  flower  shake  and  sway  under  his  left 
eye. 

"  Here  he  comes ! "  the  children  outside  cried, 
as  a  pony-carriage  drove  up  ;  and  immediately 
every  face  but  Minnie's  turned  round. 

The  folk  in  church  heard  a  murmuring  outside  ; 
then  one  of  the  Miss  Erasers  walked  up  the  church, 
and,  leaning  over  Minnie's  shoulder,  whispered  a 
few  words  to  her. 

Minnie  got  up,  looking  scared,  and  followed  Miss 
Fraser  into  the  vestry. 

The  people  in  church  began  to  ask  one  another 


240  VELVETEENS. 

questions  ;  then  the  Vicar  walked  up  to  the  first  step 
leading  into  the  chancel,  and  there  turned  and 
faced  the  congregation. 

"  My  good  people,  "  he  said,  "  you  will  be  sorry 
to  hear  that  Mrs.  Fletcher,  the  mother  of  the  bride- 
groom, has  been  taken  ill,  and  that  there  can  be 
no  wedding  to-day." 

After  one  gasp  of  astonishment,  there  arose  a  vast 
clatter  of  boots,  and  in  a  little  space  the  church 
was  empty. 

Outside  they  found  Harry  Somers  giving  to  the 
crowd  a  graphic  narrative  of  how  he  had  forced 
the  window  and  found  Mrs.  Fletcher  lying  across 
her  bed  in  a  fit. 

But  soon  the  question  arose,  "  Where  is  Giles  ? " 

Harry  Bent  being  appealed  to,  shook  his  head, 
saying— 

"No,  neighbours,  I  don't  know  nothing  of  his 
doings ;  he  has  given  me  up  as  a  bad  un,  and  very 
like  he's  gone  to  make  a  parson  of  hisself." 

Bent  made  a  white  tie  with  deft  motion  of  his 
hands,  and  the  sarcasm  set  all  the  boys  laughing. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Fraser  had  led  Minnie  from 
the  vestry  into  the  Vicarage  garden,  and  so  into 
her  father's  library. 

The  Vicar  had  some  trouble  in  prevailing  upon 
the  people  to  go  home  quietly ;  they  were  dis- 
appointed of  a  sight  which  some  of  them  had  come 
a  long  way  to  see. 

The  village  constable  was  oracular ;  he  said  nothing, 
but  the  way  in  which  he  shook  his  head  and  pinched 
his  lips  together  showed  plainly  enough  that  he 
contained  within  him  perilous  matter  which  he 
found  it  hard  to  keep  concealed. 

"You  knows  where  Giles  is,"  said  one  big  boy 
to  him. 

The  constable  smiled,  and  looked  another  way, 


THE   WEDDING-DAY. 


241 


"  Have  you  took  him  up  for  poaching,  then  ? " 
"Get  along  with  you,  you  boys!    Can't  you  see 
I'm  on  duty?' 

"  Yes,  we  can  see  that  by  your  'at,  sir." 
"  Here !    clear    out    and    make    room    for  your 
betters.      Any    need    to    stay    on    this    beat,    Mr. 
Fraser,  sir  ? " 

"  No,  Atkins ;  you  can  go  to  your  breakfast 
now  ;  but  I  want  you  to  take  these  telegrams  for  me 
first.  Giles  Fletcher  is  wanted  for  murder  ;  quick  ! 
lose  no  time." 

Thus  was  the  churchyard  left  to  its  dead ;  and 
the  cottagers  who  lived  a  mile  or  more  away  won- 
dered why  no  marriage  bells  rang  out  this  sunny 
morning.  But  the  Vicar  hurried  to  meet  Minnie 
and  John  Fletcher  in  his  library. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

MINNIE'S  RESOLVE. 

[HEN  the  Vicar  entered  his  library  he 
found  John  Fletcher  looking  out  of  the 
window,  and  Minnie  sitting  with  her 
head  in  her  hand,  silently  weeping. 

"  Why  had  not  Giles  told  her  he  could 
not  come  ?  Why  had  he  put  this  affront  upon  her, 
making  her  the  laughing-stock  of  the  village  ? 
Next  time  she  would  be  late,  and  he  should  have  to 
wait  and  look  silly  before  them  all."  Such  were 
some  of  her  thoughts  when  Mr.  Fraser  entered  the 
room. 

"John,  pray  sit  down.  I  have  something  very 
painful  to  say  to  you  both.  Minnie,  my  dear  girl, 
steel  your  heart  to  bear  a  severe  blow,  and  meet 
this  trouble  with  your  good  common  sense  and  trust 
in  Providence." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  John,  "that's  my  prayer  always 
in  sorrow — just  'Thy  will  be  done,'  and  nothing 
more.  As  for  Minnie,  she  is  a  brave  lass,  and  a 
good  lass ;  and  if  she  do  sob  a  bit  now,  why,  it's 
a  disappointment  for  a  young  woman  to  get  all 
her  clothes  ready,  and  come  to  church,  as  you  may 
say,  for  nothing !  " 


MINNIE'S  RESOLVE.  243 

"It  is  indeed,  John.  But  the  cause  is  much 
worse  than  the  consequence ;  it  is  that  which 
pains  me." 

"Ah,  well,  sir,  she  may  recover  of  that  stroke. 
I've  known 

The  Vicar  waved  his  hand,  saying,  "My  dear 
friend,  you  don't  know  the  cause  of  Giles's  absence 
this  morning.  He  left  Beckthorp  yesterday,  and 
probably  told  his  poor  mother  before  he  went  that 
a  terrible  charge  hung  over  him,  which  made  it 
necessary  for  him  to  go  at  once.  The  poor  mother 
doubtless  spent  a  night  of  poignant  grief,  and 
this  morning,  early,  she  was  seized  with  paralysis, 
as  I  gather.  Giles  had  gone  long  before  his  mother 
fell  ill." 

Minnie's  sobs  had  been  stayed.  A  "terrible 
charge"  -the  words  sent  a  shiver  through  her. 
When  she  could  find  words,  she  asked  in  a  low 
voice — 

"  This  charge,  sir,  do  you  believe  it  ? " 

The  Vicar  took  a  seat  beside  her,  and,  holding 
her  hand,  replied— 

"  Minnie,  I  will  tell  you  all.  Mr.  Brown  has  heard 
the  evidence,  and  he  finds  it  very  grave ;  your 
Aunt  Bessie  has  heard  it,  and  can't  defend  him  ; 
Giles  himself  has  heard  it,  and,  rather  than  meet 
the  charge,  he  has  run  away  without  so  much  as 
giving  you  a  hint  of  what  he  was  doing." 

Minnie's  eyes  began  to  flash  indignantly.  In  a 
firmer  voice,  she  asked— 

"  Please,  Mr.  Fraser,  what  was  the  charge  ? " 

"  The  charge  against  Giles  was  of  the  gravest.  I 
hardly  like  to  name  it  to  you  to-day." 

"I  can  bear  it  now,"  said  Minnie,  putting  her 
hand  to  her  side. 

"  My  dear  child,  there  was  ground  for  suspecting 
that  he  had  committed  a  murder." 


244  VELVETEENS. 

"  Oh  !  "  Minnie  withdrew  her  hand  sharply,  and 
John  drew  nearly  the  whole  sprig  of  lavender  into 
his  mouth. 

"He  was  offered  an  opportunity  of  explaining 
the  suspicious  facts  ;  but  he  has  gone." 

Minnie's  head  had  sunk  on  her  bosom,  which 
was  heaving  with  a  conflict  of  emotions.  First  she 
sobbed  for  many  minutes  ;  then,  as  the  two  men 
remained  silent,  she  lifted  her  head  proudly,  and 
said — 

"  Had  I  no  friends  who  were  willing  to  save  me 
from  this  disgrace  ?  Oh,  why  did  not  some  one 
warn  me  of  his  character?  I  thought  him  easily 
tempted  ;  I  never  suspected  him  of  any  wickedness. 
Some  one  should  have  warned  me.  It  was  cruel  to 
let  me  come  here." 

Again  she  wept  and  sobbed,  and  the  two  men 
looked  on  helplessly,  and  said  nothing. 

When  the  poor  girl  grew  a  little  calmer,  the 
Vicar  began— 

"  We  could  not  warn  you  earlier,  Minnie,  because 
we  did  not  know  ourselves  twenty-four  hours  ago. 
I  wrote  last  night  to  Giles's  mother,  asking  her  to 
go  to  you  and  break  the  terrible  news.  That  letter 
the  poor  woman  either  never  received,  or  else  was 
too  ill  to  act  upon.  That  letter  might  have  spared 
you  the  pain  of  this  morning's  ordeal." 

"  Thank  you,  sir  ;  you  have  always  been — been 
very  kind." 

Minnie  again  broke  down,  and  John  took  the 
opportunity  of  going  to  the  bow  window,  and  asking 
quietly — 

"  You'll  excuse  me,  sir,  but  who  be  the  —  the 
man  he  did  away  with  ? " 

"  Mr.  Forbes,  the  head  keeper,  was  the  man." 

"Nay,  never!" 

"  The  murder  was  committed,  if  it  was  a  murder^ 


MINNIE'S  RESOLVE.  245 

with  Giles's  gun  ;  there  were  other  suspicious  facts 
which  Giles  could  not  explain." 

"  Dear  me  !  Dear  me  !  "  groaned  the  fisher- 
man. 

"And  now,  Minnie,"  said  the  Vicar,  "it  is  quite 
impossible  for  you  to  go  home  yet.  You  shall  go 
to  my  daughter's  work-room  upstairs,  and  we  will 
send  you  some  hot  coffee.  Yes,*  I  insist  upon  it, 
my  dear  child.  You  have  no  father  or  mother, 
and  I  am  your  spiritual  father  in  this  parish.  You 
are  my  child,  and  must  obey  me." 

"Yes,  Minnie,"  said  John  ;  "it's  the  best  thing  to 
take  something  warm  when  you've  had  a  knock- 
down blow.  It's  very  kind  of  the  Vicar,  to  be  sure ! 
and,  maybe,  we're  taking  up  too  much  of  his  time 
on  Sunday  morning,  Minnie." 

"Indeed,  I  am  very  thankful,"  sobbed  Minnie. 
"  I  only  want  a  quiet  place  where  I  may  hide  my 
face  a  while." 

"Dora!"  shouted  the  Vicar,  "take  Minnie  up 
to  your  room,  and  make  her  as  comfortable  as  you 
can." 

Dora,  a  bright-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  girl,  came  and 
took  Minnie  by  the  hand,  as  if  she  were  leading  a 
little  child. 

"Poor  thing!"  said  the  Vicar  to  John  Fletcher, 
"  she  must  stay  here  a  day  or  two,  if  you  will  let 
her,  till  she  has  learnt  to  bear  the  shame  and  the 
sorrow." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  very  heartily.  She  be  a  good 
wench  ;  she  will  come  round  to  the  wind  in  time,  sir. 
Thank  you  kindly,  sir.  I  will  go  fetch  her  some 
things." - 

So  Minnie  ate  her  wedding-breakfast  all  by 
herself,  amid  sobs  and  sighs  and  prayers  and  bitter 
tears. 

In  the  evening,  when  the  day's  work  was  over, 


246  VELVETEENS. 

the  Vicar  found  Minnie  pacing  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  Oh !  I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  at  last,  sir ; 
for  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  go  back  and  nurse 
Mrs.  Fletcher." 

"  Can  you  do  it,  my  dear  ? " 

"  I  think  so,"  Minnie  replied,  looking  up  into  his 
face  with  a  smile.  "1  have  sat  here  and  cried 
nearly  all  day,  till  my  eyes  are  quite  red  ;  that 
is  enough  to  give  to  self,  isn't  it  ?  Now  I  have 
been  praying  while  you  were  at  church.  I  could 
hear  all  the  hymns  quite  plain  by  this  open 
window,  and  they  sounded  like  heaven.  So,  now 
it  comes  to  me  that  my  duty  is  to  look  after 
Giles's  mother." 

The  Vicar  looked  softly  upon  her,  and  said — 

"  You  have  chosen  wisely,  Minnie.  I  will  walk 
down  with  you  to  Nether  Beckthorp ;  and  perhaps 
you  will  call  on  Aunt  Bessie,  and  tell  her  you  are 
not  angry  with  her  for  stopping  your  marriage/1 

"  I  will  call  and  see  her ;  but — but  I  think  she 
might  have  told  me  about  Giles,  if  she  knew  these 
dreadful  things." 

"  I  fancy  she  did  try  to  dissuade  you,  until  you 
almost  quarrelled  with  her,  Minnie.  You  were  rather 
headstrong,  I  fear." 

"  I  have  had  a  lesson — a  bitter  lesson,"  said  the 
girl,  tremulously. 

"And  Mrs.  Brown  has  had  such  a  revolution  in 
thought  and  conduct  just  lately,  that  we  must  make 
some  allowance.  Neither  is  her  mind  quite  free 
from  the  old  malady,  as  her  husband  tells  me ; 
though  it  assumes  another  form.  For  she  insists 
on  believing  that  they  are  going  to  be  ruined." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  that ;  because  what  Aunt  Bessie 
believes,  in  her  madness,  turns  out  to  be  true." 

"Ah,  that  is  an  Oriental  notion — that  the  mad 


MINNIE'S  RESOLVE.  247 

are  inspired ;  but  it  stands  on  very  doubtful 
evidence." 

So  Minnie  astonished  all  the  neighbours  by  going 
to  nurse  Mrs.  Fletcher.  Her  patient  recovered 
sufficiently  to  move  about  feebly,  and  Minnie  still 
stayed  to  help,  at  her  earnest  request. 

"  Perhaps  my  poor  boy  may  come  back,"  the  poor 
widow  would  say,  as  she  set  a  light  in  her  bedroom 
window. 

Then  would  Minnie's  eye  flash  with  a  strange 
light,  and  she  repressed  the  words  that  struggled 
to  leap  forth. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  had  made  all  preparations 
for  their  departure,  which  was  to  take  place  on  the 
morrow.  Minnie  had  put  Mrs.  Fletcher  to  bed,  and 
was  sitting  in  the  keeping-room,  listening  vaguely 
to  the  hissing  of  the  kettle  and  the  roaring  of  the 
sea. 

"  May  we  come  in  ? " 

It  was  Jean  Forbes,  followed  by  her  brother. 
They  had  walked  down  to  say  "  Good-bye "  to 
her. 

Jean  talked  much  of  the  land  to  which  they  were 
going,  and  tried  to  make  Minnie  promise  that  some 
day  she  would  come  across  the  water  and  live  with 
Aunt  Bessie. 

Angus  sat  still  and  gazed  upon  Minnie  till  she 
blushed. 

When  Jean  had  taken  leave,  Angus  lingered  a 
moment  to  say— 

"  Good-bye,  Minnie ;  and  if  you  get  a  good 
husband,  as  I  doubt  not  you  will,  I  wish  you 
happiness." 

"  I  shall  never — never  marry  now,"  said  the  girl, 
rather  sadly. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  will,"  said  Angus,  blundering  in  his 
confused  way ;  "  I  hope  you  will,  Minnie,  I'm  sure." 


248  VELVETEENS. 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  marry  ? "  she  asked,  lifting 
her  dark  eyes  and  piercing  him  to  the  very 
soul. 

"  Til  tell  you  what/'  he  stammered  out,  "  if  you'll 
fet  me  know  when  your  ship  is  coming,  I'll  drive 
over  to  meet  it ;  if  it  is  across  Australia,  I  will. 
You're  a  good  girl,  Minnie,  to  stay  here  and  help 
Mrs.  Fletcher.  I  wanted  to  say  that,  because  we 
may  never  meet  again,  you  know." 

She  held  out  her  hand  for  the  last  time.  He 
pressed  it,  murmured  "God  bless  you!"  and 
hastened  after  his  sister. 

"Well,"  said  Jean,  "is  Minnie  coming  with  us, 
after  all?" 

"I  wouldn't  dream  of  asking  her,  Jean.  It  is  her 
duty  to  stay  here,  and  she  sees  it.  I  would  be  the 
last  person  to  take  advantage  of  her  distress,  and 
ask  her  to  marry  me." 

"She's  so  pretty,"  said  Jean,  coolly,  "that  she's 
sure  to  get  married  ;  if  you'd  left  it  to  me,  I  would 
have  managed  better." 

"It's  very  well,  Jean,  as  it  is.  I  don't  want  her 
heart  while  it  is  full  of  pity  for  Giles.  We're  better 
separated,  Jean.  Perhaps  I  may  pick  up  some 
nice  girl  out  yonder." 

Angus  did  not  tell  his  sister  of  the  offer  he  had 
just  made  to  drive  Minnie  from  the  boat ;  why 
should  he  ? 

And  so  the  Browns  went  to  Australia,  taking  with 
them  Angus  and  Jean  Forbes,  and  two  stalwart 
labourers  who  were  bent  on  improving  themselves ; 
and  life  at  Beckthorp  went  on  much  as  usual. 
Minnie  recovered  her  spirits,  but  would  not  en- 
courage the  boys  in  their  attentions  to  her. 

The  neighbours  said  she  was  waiting  for  Giles 
to  return. 

In  the  autumn  Mrs.  Fletcher  died,  and  Minnie 


MINNIE'S  RESOLVE.  249 

wrote  to  Aunt  Bessie  from  John's  house,  saying  that 
she  would  like  to  join  her  in  Australia,  if  Mr.  Forbes 
would  be  kind  enough  to  drive  over  and  meet  the 
boat. 

Aunt  Bessie  was  lying  under  the  verandah  when 
this  letter  came,  and  she  pushed  it  across  to  Angus, 
saying— 

"  What  an  absurd  girl  she  is !  She  speaks  of 
driving  two  hundred  miles  as  if  it  \vas  a  morn- 
ing's jaunt !  Drive  over  and  meet  her !  Ah,  you 
may  well  laugh,  Angus." 

Angus  was  beaming  all  over  with  happy  smiles. 

"  I  believe  Angus  means  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 
puffing  away  at  a  long  pipe  after  a  hard  day's 
work. 

"  I  do,"  said  Angus. 

"  Good  gracious !  the  man's  mad ! "  cried  Aunt 
Bessie.  Then  after  a  moment's  pause,  she  added, 
"  I  see,  of  course,  you  mean  to  marry  her  before 
you  return  here." 

"  I  do,"  said  Angus. 

"Well,  I  think  it  was  rather  bold  of  her  to 
suggest  such  a  thing,"  said  Aunt  Bessie. 

"  She  didn't  suggest  it.    I  did." 

"  You  did  ?    Then  you've  been  writing  to  her  ? " 

Angus  chuckled  to  himself,  and  just  then  the 
young  man  from  the  next  station  called  to  see 
Jean  "on  business." 

"Well!  I  never  did!  I  really  never  did!"  cried 
Aunt  Bessie. 

"  Oh  yes,  you  did  once,  Bess,"  said  her  husband  ; 
"  it's  the  way  of  the  world,  and — a  better  way  than 
this — look ! "  He  showed  her  a  letter  he  had  just 
received  from  England.  "Giles  Fletcher  has 
escaped  hanging.  He  was  washed  overboard  off 
Boston  deeps,  and  his  body  has  not  yet  been 
found." 


250  VELVETEENS. 

"  Poor  young  man  !  "  cried  Aunt  Bessie.  "  Ah  ! 
don't  you  remember,  Angus  ?  You  might  have  had 
him  hanged  by  the  neck  by  just  saying  a  dozen 
words  ;  but  you  said,  '  No,  Giles,  I  leave  you  to  the 
Great  Judge  of  all  the  earth/  " 

The  rest  were  silent  for  a  space.  It  seemed  to 
them  a  more  awful  end  than  the  gallows  inside  the 
gaol  at  Norwich  would  have  been,  and  the  clamorous 
crowd  without. 

Aunt  Bessie  wiped  a  tear  away  as  she  said,  "  I 
can't  help  crying — once  that  lad  was  the  loveliest 
and  sweetest  of  darlings — God  shield  us  all !  " 

"Amen!"  was  the  deep-toned  reply  of  Angus 
Forbes. 


THE  END, 


PRINTED  BY  WILLIAM  CLOWES  AND  SONS,   LIMITED, 
LONDON  AND  BECCLES. 


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4  PUBLICATIONS   OF   THE  SOCIETY. 

MATE  OP  THE  "LILY"  (THE);  or,  Notes  from  Harry 
Musgrave's  Log  Book.  By  the  late  W.  H.  G.  KINGSTON. 
With  Three  page  Illustrations.  Crown  %VQ.  ..Cloth  boards  I  6 

MIKE.    A   Tale  of  the  Great  Irish   Famine.     By  the    Rev. 

E.  N.  HOARE,  M.A.,  author  of  "Between  the  Locks." 
With  Three  page  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo.  ...Cloth  boards    I    6 

MIMI.  A  Story  of  Peasant  Life  in  Normandy.  By  ESME 
STUART,  author  of  "The  Little  Brown  Girl."  With 
Three  page  Illustrations.  Crown  SvoM,.WM.M.CMi  boards  2  6 

MRS.  DOBBS*  DULL  BOY.  By  ANNETTE  LYSTER,  author  of 
"Northwind  and  Sunshine,"  etc.  With  Three  page  Illus- 
trations. C rown  8 vo. *.**»»Cloth  boards  2  6 

MY  LONELY  LASSIE.  By  ANNETTE  LYSTER,  author  of 
"  Mrs.  Dobbs'  Dull  Boy."  With  Three  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo.  ..,.„ Cloth  boards  2  i 

PERCY  TREVOR'S  TRAINING.  By  the  Rev.  E.  N.  HOARE, 
M.A.,  author  of  "Two  Voyages,"  etc.  With  Three  page 
Illustrations.  Crown  8vo * „.*. ^Cloth  boards  2  6 

PHILIP  VANDELEUR'S  VICTORY.  By  C.  H.  EDEN,  author 
of  "Australia's  Heroes,"  "The  Fifth  Continent,"  etc. 
With  Three  page  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo.  tt*Cloth  boards  2  6 

PILLARS  OP  SUCCESS  (THE).  By  CRONA  TEMPLE,  author 
of  "  Griffinhoof,"  etc.  With  Three  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo. ,.,.,..- -...Cloth  boards  2  6 

RECLAIMED.    A  Tale.     By  A.  EuBULE-EvANS.    With  Three 

page  Illustrations.     Crown  8vo.    ....« Cloth  boards    2    6 

ROUND  MY  TABLE.  By  H.  L.  CHILDE-PEMBERTON,  author 
of  "The  Topmost  Bough,"  etc.  With  Three  page  Illus- 
trations. Crown  Svo Cloth  boards  I  6 

SAILING  AND  SEALING.     A  Tale  of  the  North  Pacific.     By 

F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE.    With  Four  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  Svo ClotH  boards    3    6 

SETTLERS  (THE):  A  Tale  of  Virginia.     By  the  late  W.   H. 

G.  KINGSTON.     With   several   Illustrations.     Crown  Svo. 

Cloth  boards    2    6 


PUBLICATIONS   OF  THE  SOCIETY.  5 

*.    d. 

SiaVERS  AND  CRUISERS.  A  Tale  of  the  West  Coast.  By 
the  late  S.  W.  SADLER,  R.N.  With  Four  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  8vo M Cloth  boards  3  6 

STEFFAN'S  ANGEL,  AND  OTHER  STORIES.  By  M.  E. 
TOVVNSEND.  With  Three  page  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo. 

Cloth,  boards    2    6 

STORIES  FROM  ITALIAN  HISTORY.  By  the  late  B.  MONT- 
GOMERIE  RANKING.  With  Two  page  Illustrations.  Crown 
8vo , Clothboards  I  6 

STEPMOTHER'S  WILL  (THE)  ;  or,  a  Tale  of  Two  Brothers. 
By  A.  EUBULE-EVANS,  author  of  "Reclaimed."  With 
numerous  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo Clothboards  2  6 

SWEET  WILLIAM.    By  Mrs.  THOMAS  ERSKINE.     With  Three 

page  Illustrations.    Crown  8vo Clothboards    I    6 

THROUGH  THE  ROUGH  WIND.  A  Story  of  the  Collieries. 
By  CRONA  TEMPLE,  author  of  "  Etta's  Fairies,"  etc.  With 
Three  page  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo Clothboards  I  6 

TIM  YARDLEY'S  YEAR.  A  Book  for  Country  Boys.  By 
F.  SCARLETT  POTTER.  With  Three  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  Svo Cloth  boards  I  6 

TO  THE  WEST.    By  G.  MANVILLE  FENN.    With  Five  page 

Illustrations.     Crown  Svo Cloth  boards    5    ° 

TWO  SHIPMATES  (THE).  By  the  late  W.  H.  G.  KINGSTON, 
author  of  "Ned  Garth."  With  Three  page  Illustrations. 
Crown  Svo Cloth  boards  I  6 

UNA  CRICHTON.     By  the  author  of  "  Our  Valley,"  etc.     With 

Four  page  Illustrations.     Crown  Svo Cloth  boards    3    6 

UNSETTLED   FOR  LIFE;  or,  What  shall  I  be  ?    By  the  Rev. 

HARRY  JONES,  M.  A.    Crown  Svo Clothboards    2    6 

WILL'S  VOYAGES.  By  F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE,  author  of 
"The  Fate  of  the  Black  Swan."  With  Four  page  Illus- 
trations. Crown  Svo Clothboards  3  6 


0  PUBLICATIONS   OF  THE  SOCIETY. 

PUBLICATIONS  BY  THE  LATE  MRS.  EWINQ. 

BNAPDRAGONS :  A  Tale  of  Christmas  Eve,  and  OLD  FATHER 
CHRISTMAS.  Illustrated  by  GORDON  BROWNE.  Small 
4to ^.«....M....»4 Paper  boards  I  o 

BROTHERS  OF  PITY,  and  other  Tales  of  Beasts  and  Men. 

Crown  8vo.     With  numerous  Illustrations Cloth  boards     2    6 

DADDY  DARWIN'S  DOVECOT :  A  Country  Tale.  With  numer- 
ous Illustrations  by  the  late  R.  CALDECOTT.  Small  410. 

Paper  boards     \     o 

DANDELION  CLOCKS,  and  other  Tales.     With  Illustrations  by 

GORDON  BROWNE  and  other  artists.    4to Paper  boards    I    o 

JACKANAPES.    With  seventeen  Illustrations  by  the  late  R. 

CALDECOTT.     Small  4to .Cloth  boards    \    o 

IOB  LIE-BY-THE  FIRE ;  or,  The  Luck  of  Lingborough.  Illus- 
trated by  the  late  RANDOLPH  CALDECOTT.  Small  410. 

Paper  boards    I     o 

OLD-FASHIONED  FAIRY  TALES.    Fcap.  4to.    With  numerous 

Woodcuts .Cloth  boards    3    6 

MARY'S  MEADOW.    With  Illustrations  by  GORDON  BROWNE. 

Small  4to Paper  boards     I    o 

THE  PEACE  EGG,  AND  A  CHRISTMAS  MUMMING  PLAY. 

Illustrated  by  GORDON  BROWNE.     4to Paper  boards    I    o 

THE    STORY    OF    A    SHORT    LIFE.     With  Illustrations  by 

GORDON  BROWNE.    Small  4to Paper  boards    i    o 

VERSE-BOOKS  FOR  CHILDREN.  Illustrated  by  ANDR& 
Printed  in  Colours.  Small  4to.  Ornamental  paper  boards, 
in$vols. Each  3  o 


JULIANA  HORATIA  EWING  AND  HER  BOOKS.  By  HORATIA 
K.  F.  GATTY.  With  a  Portrait  by  GEORGE  REID,  R.S.A. 
Illustrated  by  facsimiles  from  Mrs.  E WING'S  Sketches, 
and  a  Cover  designed  by  the  late  RANDOLPH  CALDECOTT. 
Small  4to „ Paper  boards  I  o 


LONDON:  NORTHUMBERLAND  AVENUE,  CHARING  CROSS,  W.C.; 

43,  QUEEN  VICTORIA  STREET,  E.G. 

BRIGHTON ;   135,  NORTH  STREET. 


